Reeling in the Wake
by xxhorriblemusicianxx
Summary: Everything was fine until Al started bleeding. Like lightening out of a clear blue sky, the Potters' happily-ever-after is thrown into chaos when Albus is diagnosed with Leukemia.
1. Chapter 1

**P/N: Yup this is a publisher's note. This story is not of my own creation, although I sincerely wish it were! One of my closest friends wrote this, and got me interested in the idea. I have been hanging on, waiting for more, and my friend has finally agreed to publish it so that the world can lose themselves in the wonders of this author's writing style. I hope you like it, but even if you don't, reviews are always appreciated.  
**

**Reeling in the Wake: Part One**

It was a cold Saturday in early November. A thin layer of frost encrusted the grounds of Hogwarts and a howling wind stirred opaque clouds, threatening real snow and the onset of winter. It was not the kind of day Albus Potter expected to change his life.

Most of the school was tucked away in their warm common rooms, playing chess or studying, glad not to be out in the grounds. But Albus was not one of those lucky people. Seven scarlet blurs were shooting around the Quidditch pitch, taking advantage of the ideal practice conditions.

With the first game of the season exactly two weeks away, Dominique Weasley, newly made Quidditch captain for the Gryffindor team, was getting nervous. They had to win their first game. They _had _to. Not only was it her first chance to prove herself (or fail miserably), but it would also get the school to shut up. The team Dominique had tentatively put together was the source of much gossip and muttering. Because four of the six other team members were Dominique's cousins.

It wasn't favoritism. Dominique did not play favorites, especially not when Quidditch was involved. But she couldn't help that she came from a family of Quidditch talent. A very large family of Quidditch talent. And with at least one, half the time two, Weasley grandchildren in every year except seventh, and all nine of them in Gryffindor, it was not really so surprising how tryouts had ended.

Dominique was a slightly short, stocky fifth year, and she had earned her captaincy by playing Beater (to her mother's slight dismay) for three years and being damn good at it. So she was a bit wounded when people muttered that even her selection as captain had been brought about by her head of house and the headmistress herself being family friends. But the muttering that went on after tryouts really got her blood boiling.

Nobody seemed to remember that Fred and James had already proven themselves _last year _when Emilia Robbins put them on the team and they won all three games. Nor did they take notice of the fact that Roxanne had tried out for Chaser, but didn't make it. Because Roxanne was a first year, was not allowed her own broom, and, as good as she was, could not quite compete with the older students just yet. And Dominique played fair.

And so this was the reason for the fire in Dominique's eyes as she soared around the pitch, observing every move her team made, determined that they should work like a well-oiled machine. No mistakes. This was the advantage of having five of seven players from the same family. They had grown up playing together. They had a good decade of practice more than any other team.

They had been at it for hours, but it was a testament to their dedication that no one had come close to complaining. Albus circled one of the goal posts at the opposite end of the pitch from where Rose stood guard, watching James and the other Chasers with quick, calculating eyes. He had caught the Snitch three times, each time more quickly than the last. But he didn't let that get him cocky. With another team and another seeker racing him to the capture (not to mention all the people watching), it would be very different.

Ignoring the feeling that his fingers were freezing to his broom, Albus rose higher and squinted down at the darting players, trying to spot a flicker of gold. And then he saw it. His heart leaping in the familiar way, Albus dove straight for the ground, not taking his eyes off that speck of gold. He swooped under Erin Fry, one of the other Chasers, and swerved around Dominique, heart bounding as he closed in on his prey.

Dominique sent a bludger rocketing his way, but he ducked it, nearly close enough to reach out his hand and make the grab. But then, in a desperate bid for escape, the little ball made a sharp turn. Albus jerked around to follow it, and the second bludger Fred had aimed for his shoulder smacked hard into the side of his face.

Albus was nearly knocked off his broom. Stars popping in front of his eyes, he clung on with his left hand, feeling something hot and sticky dripping down his face.

"I'm sorry!" Fred's frantic voice said in his ear as someone pulled him straight again. "I didn't mean to hit you in the face, honest Al!"

Albus blinked and shook his head, feeling slightly dizzy.

"You alright, Al?"

Dominique had joined them. She looked over the side of Albus's face, assessing the damage while Fred hovered guiltily beside them.

"Black eye and a bloody nose," Dominique said, pressing gently on Albus's streaming nose. "Doesn't look broken. You'll be fine, but maybe you should take a seat in the stands 'til it stops bleeding."

Albus nodded and headed unsteadily to the ground, Fred flashing him one more apologetic look.

"Alright, show's over, let's keep going," Dominique shouted to the rest of her team, who had all paused to see what was going on.

Aside from Al catching a bludger in the face, things were looking excellent. Dominique and Fred were hardly able to break through the Chasers' seamless plays. James, Erin Fry, and Mackenzie Bell spent half the time swooping around each other, working as one unit, and the other half practicing steals and defense. Rose managed to block them a good three quarters of the time, but that left a healthy quarter of their shots to score.

Albus thought they looked really good as he watched this coordinated display, pressing a handkerchief to his nose. He gently felt the side of his face, watching James send the Quaffle spinning towards the left hoop, and winced. He'd have a nice bruise there. He hoped Madam Pomfrey would heal it tonight.

That was all he needed in the run-up to his first big game; ammo for the Slytherins to taunt him with. He was nervous enough as it was. Rose carried herself with a dignified imperviousness to taunts and snide remarks, and James gloried in the verbal sparring that preceded Quidditch matches, but Albus didn't have quite as much confidence.

But he couldn't let nerves ruin this for Dom. He was one of the reasons most of the school was grumbling about her. He had to catch the snitch. He had to prove Dominique had made the right choices.

"Hey, Al! How's that nosebleed coming?" Dominique yelled down to him, aiming a bludger neatly into James's path and forcing him to veer off course and lose the Quaffle.

Albus pulled the handkerchief away from his face and was startled at how much red had seeped into the linen. And he could still feel blood gushing down his upper lip. He ran a hand under his nose and looked at the thick smears of crimson that came away on his fingers, feeling slightly panicky.

Dominique landed in front of him to take a closer look. He held up his stained handkerchief and hand, looking at his cousin with wide eyes. Dominique hurried over to him, alarmed.

"Hospital wing," she said, pulling out her own handkerchief and handing it to him. "I might've been wrong about nothing being broken."

She turned to the rest of the team, who had once again paused, looking anxiously down at Al, who was visibly covered in blood.

"I'm taking him to Madam Pomfrey!" she called up to them. "You lot keep practicing. We'll be back in a bit."

Dominique helped Albus to his feet and put an arm around his shoulders as they headed for the school, trying not to look too freaked out. That was a lot of blood.

Madam Pomfrey thought so too.

"What on earth happened to him?" she demanded when she saw Albus.

"Quidditch accident," Dominique said a bit sheepishly, pushing Al over to one of the beds. "Got a bludger in the face. I think it might have broken his nose."

Madam Pomfrey bustled over, muttering under her breath about dangerous sports and something that sounded like, 'just like his father'. Dominique watched anxiously as Madam Pomfrey siphoned the blood away and waved her wand over Al's face.

"Not broken," she reported. "You'll be good as new in a second, Potter. Hold still."

With a sharp jab of her wand, the flow of blood stopped. Madam Pomfrey handed Albus a cloth to wipe off the last smears of scarlet.

"Once you're cleaned up, you can go," she told him and swept off down the ward to finish sorting potions.

Dominique waited as Al hastily wiped the last of the blood from his face and slid off the bed.

"That was one hell of a bloody nose," she told him good-naturedly as they set off down the corridor. "For a while there I was afraid you were going to bleed out on me."

Albus grinned sheepishly. "Guess Fred can hit harder than we thought."

"Well, he better not do that in the match, or he'll be giving away penalties," Dominique said.

She glanced at Al as they rounded another corner and put out a hand to stop him. Albus looked quizzically up at her.

"You're bleeding again," she told him.

"I am?"

He lifted a hand and stared in dismay when his fingers came away red again.

"Come on, back to Pomfrey," Dominique sighed, turning Al around and marching him back up to the hospital wing.

"Forget something?" Madam Pomfrey asked when she glanced up to see them back in her doorway.

"It came back," Albus explained, whipping the trickle with a finger to stop it dripping onto his robes.

Madam Pomfrey frowned. She hurried over to him and forced him down onto one of the beds.

"Did you get hit again?" she asked, jabbing her wand to stem the flow and siphoning off the blood again.

Albus shook his head. "Just started up out of nowhere."

"Hm, well sit there a moment so we can make sure it doesn't happen again."

Albus sat still, Dominique watching him with a crease between her eyebrows. Madam Pomfrey went back to her potions. Nothing happened for a few minutes, and Albus was just about to ask if he could go now when he felt something hot trickling down his lip again.

"Madam Pomfrey, he's bleeding again!' Dominique called, grabbing the box of tissues next to the bed and handing one to Al.

The matron was with them in a second, frowning more deeply as she stopped Albus's nosebleed for the third time.

"Is there something wrong with him?" Dominique asked worriedly.

"I'll fix him up, don't worry Miss Weasley. You go on, now," Madam Pomfrey said, shooing Dominique out of her ward.

A bit taken aback by the abrupt dismissal, Dominique backed out of the hospital wing, shooting a confused and anxious look over her shoulder at her little cousin, who gave her a gloomy wave.

Albus watched a little nervously as Madam Pomfrey gathered a couple of vials. _Was _there something wrong with him? He could not afford to be dealing with some stupid injury like this so close to a match.

"Drink this," she told him, returning and handing him a half-full goblet of some bright orange potion.

He drank obediently, feeling like the potion was sliding down his throat in slow motion. He coughed and swallowed, grimacing.

"How have you been feeling lately, Potter?" Madam Pomfrey inquired, taking his pulse.

Albus shrugged. "Fine I guess. Tired. We had practice all last week. Why? What's the matter with me?"

"I'm not sure yet. Maybe nothing," Madam Pomfrey soothed. She tipped his face up to look into his eyes, laid a hand on his forehead. "Anything hurt?" she asked.

Albus shrugged again. He'd been sore for weeks, but that was just from Quidditch practice too. He had never trained so hard in his life.

"You need to tell me, Potter," Madam Pomfrey said sternly. "Everything."

"Well, I felt kinda sick in the beginning of the week, but it went away before I came up here for pepper-up."

"Hmm, well you've got a temperature now, so I'm keeping you a bit longer," she told him, pushing him back against the pillows and pulling back the blankets for him to get under. Then she handed him another tissue. "You're bleeding again. Not much, though. The potion I gave you should stop it. Hold out your arm."

Albus complied, dabbing dully at his nose. So he was sick on top of getting smacked in the face. Great –

"Ow!"

A sharp prick in the crook of his right elbow distracted him from his gloomy thoughts. He looked down at the arm he'd been holding out for madam Pomfrey and saw a small cut, but it was already knitting itself back together. Madam Pomfrey was putting a cork in a tiny glass vial filled with something that was dark red.

"Just to have a look," Madam Pomfrey assured him, pocketing the vial. "Sometimes blood can tell us more than magic."

XxX

"Where's Al?" Rose called when she saw Dominique returning alone.

"Pomfrey's keeping him a bit longer!" she called back as she mounted her broom to join them.

"He's okay, though, right?" Fred asked a bit guiltily. "I mean, I didn't, like, break him or something, did I?"

"He'll be fine," Dominique assured him. "Madam Pomfrey can fix just about anything, and it wasn't too bad. You didn't even break his nose. He'll be fine."

XxX

"Come on, Al, let's see the shiner," James teased that evening as he threw himself down on the end of his brother's bed and pried the blankets away from his face.

"James, go away," Albus complained, still half-asleep, dragging the blankets back over his head. He felt awful: sore and tired and sick.

"Is that any way to treat your visitors?" James chastised, tsking like their grandmother. "All your concerned friends and family want is to make sure you're okay, and you tell us to _go away_."

"I only told _you _to go away," Albus muttered, rolling over and sitting up.

When he saw Albus's face, James sucked in a sharp breath, wincing along with most of the little group that had gathered around Albus's bed.

"Oooo, you really got him good, didn't you?" James said to Fred, looking with mingled awe and repulsion at the bruise that stretched from Albus's blackened eye across the entire left side of his face. James poked it reverently, and Albus slapped his hand away.

"It's like somebody finger painted half your face," he told his little brother, squinting at the impressive array of blackish blues, greens and deep purples.

"It's not _that _bad," Albus protested, pushing himself up a little and groping for his glasses.

"Have you _seen _yourself?" James asked incredulously. "You look like you're half raccoon."

"Shut up, James," Rose said, putting Albus's glasses into his scrabbling hand. "It's not… I mean, really you can hardly… okay, it_ does _look pretty nasty," she conceded finally.

"Er, right. I'm really sorry about that, again," Fred told Albus sheepishly.

Albus shrugged, trying to grin at him, but a dull throbbing in half his face turned it into more of a grimace. "S'okay."

James was rummaging in Albus's bedside table for a mirror, determined that his brother should witnesses the phenomenon that was the left side of his face. Albus gaped at his reflection when James finally shoved the polished metal lid of a tin in his face in place of a mirror.

"That looks…worse than I thought. And that's saying something 'cause I can feel it."

"It's an impressive specimen, little bro'," James agreed.

Dominique rolled her eyes at James. Boys.

"So, has Madam Pomfrey figured out why her spells weren't working this afternoon?" she asked instead.

Albus shook his head, noticing as he did so that the world seemed to pitch a little. He sank back against his pillows, feeling a little sick.

"You okay?" Rose asked, touching his arm lightly.

"Yeah, I'll be fine by tomorrow," Albus said, trying to sound it.

It was then that Madam Pomfrey appeared to chivy the group along, insisting that Albus be left in peace to rest. So his brother and cousins said their goodbyes, James messing up his hair for good measure, and filed out of the hospital wing.

XxXxX

Madam Pomfrey sat back in her chair and rubbed vigorously at her itching eyes. On the table before here was what looked like a handful of tiny red beads. With a tired wave of her wand and a muttered "Reducio totalum" the blood sample she had taken from Albus Potter shrank back to normal size and poured itself neatly back into its vial.

After nearly fifty years of looking after children at Hogwarts, Madam Pomfrey had developed something of a sixth sense. She had known somewhere in her gut when Albus Potter reappeared in her doorway, dripping blood again, that something was very wrong. Her minor healing spells always worked the first time. Always. But she had hoped it was just a fluke, that she would find some easily fixable explanation.

But with each new test on the blood sample, the farther from that hope she got. She had spent all night poring over the enlarged platelets, waving her wand in complex patterns, willing different results. She had even retested one more time that morning, just to make absolutely sure. But nothing had changed.

Madam Pomfrey stood slowly and made a fuss about placing Albus's blood sample just so on a shelf behind her desk, putting off the moment all she could. But when she could not get the potions bottles and vials any straighter, she turned and made her way slowly up the aisle between the beds.

She spotted Albus curled up under his blankets near the end of the ward, fast asleep, and had to swallow hard. With a heart feeling as though it were made of cinder, Poppy Pomfrey went to make one of the worst kinds of calls.

XxXxX

Two figures appeared outside the gates of Hogwarts with simultaneous pops.

The cold wind whipped Ginny's long red hair into her face and she brushed it away irritably.

"So what do you think this is about?" Harry asked her as the pair of them walked up to the gate.

"You're the one that talked to Neville this morning," she reminded him, peering through the wrought iron bars. "If James is getting expelled, I'm blaming it on our lack of foresight when we named him after two Marauders."

Harry grinned in spite of himself. "Neville said it had to do with Al. What's your excuse if he's getting expelled?"

"The way he takes after his father," she said, flashing Harry a cheeky grin. "But that makes me feel a little better. At least I highly doubt we'll be hearing about something getting blown up today."

"There's Neville," Harry said suddenly, pointing to a figure coming down to open the gate for them.

"Hey, Neville!" Ginny called, waving.

Neville raised a hand in acknowledgement, jogging forward to tap the gate a few times with his wand. It swung open to admit them.

"Hey," Neville said as he and Harry shook hands and Ginny hugged him.

"So what's going on? Hope the boys haven't set fire to anything too valuable this time," Harry joked.

Neville gave a weak smile as they set off towards the school.

"It's nothing like that," he assured them. "Madam Pomfrey actually asked me to get hold of you this morning."

Harry and Ginny exchanged looks.

"Why? You said it was about Al. Is he hurt or something?" Harry asked anxiously.

"I really don't know," Neville told them apologetically. "He seemed fine yesterday… Madam Pomfrey didn't tell me anything, though. Just to get the two of you. She… well, she was looking a bit grim."

Harry and Ginny exchanged another look, this time with mild alarm.

"I'm sure Al's fine," Neville said hastily. "Look, I really don't know why Madam Pomfrey wants you. Could just be paperwork or something like that."

He tried to smile reassuringly.

Ginny drew her cloak more tightly around her in the chilly air and Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

XxXxX

"I'm sorry," Ginny said, shaking her head a little and sitting forward in her chair. "You said there's something wrong with Albus's blood. What does that mean exactly?"

The first thing that jumped to her mind was the fact that Harry's mother had been a muggle-born and her family blood-traitors. Surely Madam Pomfrey – who had treated her entire family at Hogwarts – hadn't brought her here to make a slight on her son's blood status. But there couldn't be anything _literally_ wrong with his blood, could there? It had been perfectly fine for twelve years, after all.

She glanced sideways at Albus, sitting in the bed beside her and looking perfectly healthy. Except for the large bruise on the side of his face, which could be explained by a bludger. Then Ginny looked over at her husband, sitting in a chair on the other side of Albus's bed. She expected to see a similar confusion, maybe even outrage at the allusion to blood-status in Harry's expression, but there was neither. Harry had a hand on Albus's knee, but his gaze was locked on Madam Pomfrey. He looked as if someone were about to push him off a cliff.

"I mean, Mrs. Potter," Madam Pomfrey began gently.

It jarred Ginny for some reason to hear the matron – who had taken care of her when she was still a Weasley – use her married name. And to speak so gently. Madam Pomfrey was a kind woman, but she always upheld a strictness in her ward. Ginny shook herself and refocused on what the woman was saying to her now.

"…points to an abnormality. I don't pretend to be an expert on micro biology. My specialty deals with magic. But I've seen a case like this before… and my advice would be to have Albus checked over as soon as possible."

"Checked over for what?" Ginny asked, feeling slow. Abnormality? Platelets? White blood cell counts? What did these words have to do with her son? If there was something wrong with him, why wasn't Madam Pomfrey brewing a potion or using a spell to fix it instead of talking medical mumbo jumbo to her?

Ginny started when it was her husband's voice that answered.

"Leukemia," he said quietly. "That's what you think is wrong. You think he has Leukemia."

Madam Pomfrey looked somber. "I don't know for sure. It could be something Leukemic, it could be an immune deficiency of some sort. Like I said, I don't pretend to be an expert on micro medical biology. I deal with spells gone wrong and potions accidents and Quidditch injuries. Not blood cells."

Leukemia. The word felt strange, even in her mind. Ginny thought she had heard it before, mentioned vaguely in someone else's conversation that she was only half-listening to, perhaps.

But Albus was the one that asked, "What is it? Leu- whatever that word is. What does it mean?"

Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth to explain, but again it was Harry who answered.

"It's a type of cancer, isn't it? Cancer of the blood."

Madam Pomfrey nodded.

Ginny felt a little like the ground was spinning beneath her. Cancer? They thought her son had cancer? But that wasn't possible. People with cancer were sick. They weren't in school studying for quizzes or getting injured in Quidditch practices. People with cancer could die. Her son couldn't –

"Cancer," Albus repeated faintly.

And just like that Ginny was firmly present again in the hospital wing, watching his face as he comprehended the news that he might be very ill.

"Right. So what do we do?" she asked, finding her voice again as she turned back to the matron.

"Find out exactly what's causing the abnormality with Albus's blood cells. I might be wrong. It might not be Leukemia…"

But she didn't look as though she expected to be wrong.

Harry let out a deep breath, running a hand over his face.

"And what if you're right?" he asked, looking up at Madam Pomfrey. "What if it turns out Albus has cancer? Isn't there just some potion you can give him to bring his white blood cell count back to normal? Or some sort of spell to fix whatever's causing it to drop in the first place? I mean, you can regrow bones and counteract poisons. There must be something you can do about this?"

He looked desperate, Ginny thought with a shock. It scared her. She knew next to nothing about cancer, had never even had an idea about what Leukemia was until just now. But Harry seemed to understand more than she did.

She looked back at Madam Pomfrey to see her shaking her head sadly in answer to Harry's questions. What did she mean? There wasn't a way for her to treat Leukemia?

"I'm sorry, Potter. Not even magic has all the cures. Maybe there's a potion out there that could treat Leukemia, but we'd have to invent it first. You have to understand that cancer isn't a common thing in the wizarding world, if only because of numbers. Muggles treat cancer far more regularly than we do because their population is hundreds of times bigger. In all the years I've been at this school, I've only had one other student diagnosed with Leukemia. Magical research in that department is sadly undeveloped."

"So then what do we do?" Ginny asked quietly, her mouth going rather dry.

Madam Pomfrey hesitated. "Well, you have some choices. The first thing you'll need to do is take Albus into London and have more tests run. It's up to you where you want this done, St. Mungo's or a Muggle hospital. If it turns out… that Albus has cancer, you'll have to decide how to go about treating it. You should have a medical council with a Healer in St. Mungo's, they know more than I do. I can set up for someone to come over here this afternoon if you like."

Ginny nodded her appreciation of this.

"But I don't understand," Albus piped up. "Why is not having enough white blood cells so terrible? What's wrong with me exactly?"

Ginny conjured a piece of paper and a quill, jotting down notes as Madam Pomfrey explained as much as she could. Her education in things like science and biology was shoddy at best. Her mother had home-schooled Ginny and her brothers, as was customary in pure-blood families. And of course there was little room for biology classes at Hogwarts. She had only the vaguest idea about the mechanics of the immune system or the blueprints of a blood cell.

It seemed a long time later that Madam Pomfrey got up to contact St. Mungo's about sending a Healer over. Ginny set aside her paper and quill and looked back at Albus. He was staring down at his fingers, expression blank.

"Sweetheart? Are – " she stopped herself from asking if he was alright. He wasn't alright, and they all knew it. "How are you holding up?" she asked instead.

Albus shrugged. Harry rubbed his back gently.

"We'll figure it out, buddy" he murmured.

Albus forced a pained sort of smile. "Yeah, Dad. I know. You're the master at beating Death after all."

Both his parents flinched, but Albus didn't see.

Ginny leaned forward and kissed the top of her son's head.

"Daddy and I are going to take a little walk. We'll be back in second, love."

XxX

"What do you know about all of this?" Ginny asked the moment they were in the corridor.

Harry reached for her hand, gripping her fingers tightly.

"Not much more than you do," he admitted.

"You knew what it was coming to, though. You knew it was cancer."

Harry shrugged. "We learned a little bit about this sort of thing in primary school. There was a kid in our class who had Leukemia one year. You heard about it all the time. Blood drives and stuff for sick kids…."

"What happened to him?" Ginny demanded. "The kid you knew. What happened to him?"

"I-I dunno," Harry said, a bit taken aback.

"Harry, what happened to the boy you knew who had this?" Ginny was looking hard at him, almost fierce.

"It was thirty years ago!" Harry said in exasperation. "Besides, I had bigger problems back then than keeping track of a kid who was in school about once every two months."

But Harry did know what had happened. He just refused to voice it. Not now. And to his relief, Ginny let the subject drop.

She sagged against the stone wall behind her, staring vaguely over his head.

"Do you remember this morning when everything was fine?" she asked, and it sounded like years had passed since then, not mere hours.

Harry stepped forward, wrapped both his arms around her, buried his face in her hair. They stood like that for a moment before simultaneously breaking apart and heading back into the hospital wing.

XxX

Healer Eric Hart was a good ten years younger than Harry and according to Madam Pomfrey, the only oncology specialist St. Mungo's had ever had. In addition to his five years of magical study in the Healer program, Eric Hart had also attended one of the best medical schools in the U.K. He was one of the few Healers with an intensive background in Muggle medicine, specifically cancer and blood disorders.

The moment he stepped around the curtain Madam Pomfrey had put up to give them privacy, Harry liked Healer Hart. He scarcely glanced at Harry's scar, offered his wife a reassuring smile, and managed to make his son laugh all in the first two minutes.

Then they started talking about cancer again.

"In order to have a clear idea what's going on, I would need more than one blood sample," he explained. "There are all kinds of tests and labs we would have to run. We can do all that at St. Mungo's, and the upside is that it would be a lot quicker and less painful to use magic. The thing is, though, if you end up using Muggle treatments, you'll have to go through all of it again, without magic, so they can have all your data on record."

"Madam Pomfrey says there isn't much for magical treatments…"

Hart shook his head grimly. "No, there isn't. I'm the first Healer to have any kind of expertise in this field and I haven't been at St. Mungo's long enough to really establish a study. Plus, in the three years I've been there, we've only gotten about five people with Leukemia. Not a lot of opportunities for testing. I'm working on a few trial procedures. If you want to give the magical method a try, I swear I'll do everything in my power to help Al get better, but I can't guarantee any results. And with kids, usually there isn't a lot of time to spare for screwing around.

"It's not helping the magical cause for a cure, but my advice is to go straight to a Muggle Hospital. They have treatments with much higher success rates and doctors with much more experience. You won't get healing spells or magic potions, but they know what they're doing."

"And what exactly _will _they be doing?" Ginny asked apprehensively.

Her experience with Muggle medicine boiled down to exactly one incident: when her father had had the crazy notion of trying to _sew _himself up after Voldemort's snake had attacked him. The stories her brothers had told her about Muggle doctors when she was little had usually involved a lot of cutting and horror. Even as a rational adult, she was not keen on putting her son on an operating table.

"Well, it depends on the type and severity of the disease –"

Hart was probably not even aware that he had used the word 'disease', much less that it was the first time the Potters were hearing it in regard to Albus. It was one of those moments when the world, already tilting dangerously on its axis, suddenly seems to overbalance and land permanently at a wild angle, and nothing quite looks the same anymore.

But Hart was still talking as if nothing had happened.

"– Most likely Al will start with Chemotherapy. It's also possible radiation or bone marrow transplants will be used. The doctors will be able to tell you exactly what sort of procedures they suggest after the tests are done. I can get you in at the New London Cancer Center within the next day or two, if you want. The sooner you start, the better, really."

"And – and what if we don't treat him?" Harry asked suddenly, surprising even himself.

Healer Hart looked at him with sharp, piercing eyes, and for the first time he seemed hard and cold.

"I just mean," Harry went on hastily, "Leukemia affects the immune system, right? Stops Al from being able to fight off illness and infections. So why can't we give him pepper-up or something whenever he gets sick? Heal every cut and bruise? For Muggles, no immune system is really dangerous, but we have magic to keep Al healthy."

Hart softened again, looking at Harry almost sadly.

"I'm afraid it doesn't quite work like that, Mr. Potter," he sighed.

He took Al's chin in his hand and waved his wand over Albus's face. The bruise that covered the entire left side of his face like some painted-on charcoal mask faded.

"In a normal patient, that's all you would have to do and he'd be good as new. But the blood doesn't work the same in someone with Leukemia.

"See, what all magic basically boils down to is the manipulation of atoms beyond what is natural. Most healing spells involve a rapid speed-up of the body's natural healing process. Healing a bruise on an atomic level would be returning pooling blood back to the veins, clotting to stop anymore bleeding, and repairing the damaged blood vessels. But in a Leukemia patient, there aren't enough platelets to clot, so the spell doesn't hold."

He gently turned Albus's face a little so his parents could see the dark splotches already seeping back across his cheek as the bruise reformed.

"I'll bet he's got a big bruise on his arm where Madam Pomfrey took blood yesterday, too. The skin will repair, but not the bleeding. In a Leukemia patient, our spells and potions don't work like they should. Which means if Al doesn't get treatment… he will die."

He said the last part as gently as he could, but it didn't lessen the blow those words dealt.

Harry swallowed hard, feeling sick that he had even suggested not treating his son. But trial procedures and radiation weren't exactly great options to pick from. He didn't want Albus to go through any of the treatments Healer Hart had suggested.

Albus felt cold as he realized the 'he' in the last part of Hart's sentence was him. But just one glance at his parents and he could tell they were both on the verge of losing it. This has to be some sort of nightmare, he thought.

But it wasn't.

Healer Hart talked with his parents for another long half hour about the New London Cancer Center, what they should expect when they took Albus there, the doctors he had contact with, and what sort of connection St. Mungo's had with the Muggle hospital.

Albus slipped in and out of attentiveness. It seemed impossible to him that it had only been twenty-four hours since Dominique had brought him here, that he had been cocooned in this narrow, too-white ward, hidden away in the aqua folds of the curtains around his bed. It seemed like much, much longer, and he imagined the world outside the hospital wing must have changed drastically since last he'd been a part of it.

At last, Healer Hart stood up. He clapped Albus on the shoulder, shook Harry's and Ginny's hands, promised to be in touch with the time of their appointment at the NLCC, and turned to go. But before he drew the curtains apart again, he looked back at them all.

"Doctors don't tell you this very much because they're too caught up in the innumerable amount of tragedies and hardships they have to see, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry this had to happen to you. To anyone... My sister died of cancer when I was still at Hogwarts, so, I guess I've been where you're sitting. I sincerely hope things go better for you, though."

And with that, he disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

**Reeling in the Wake - Part two**

Harry blinked at the door to Neville's office. He had set out in the direction of Gryffindor tower, and was therefore distantly surprised to find himself here. It felt like he was walking in a daze, the world somehow shifting and not entirely substantial. Had this really all just happened?

"Harry?"

Neville's voice made Harry spin around. He was coming down the corridor carrying a stack of books and not looking all that surprised to see Harry standing like an out-of-place statue in front of his office. The blank stare he was getting, however, did seem to cloud Neville's expression with trepidation.

"Is everything alright with Al?" he asked tentatively.

A hysterical sort of grin crossed Harry's face as he turned away to brace himself against the wall. Things with Albus were about as far from alright as they got. Immediately concerned, Neville shoved his books onto a hastily-conjured shelf and put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

_My son might be dying_. But Harry couldn't find the words to even begin explaining. He gaped at Neville for a moment or two before managing to pull himself together enough for a response.

"We don't know yet exactly."

Harry pivoted and took a few steps away, hands behind his head, thinking of where he had been intending to go. He let out a long breath, gathering himself for the one conversation he _had _to have today, and turned back to Neville.

"Listen, do you think you could track down James for me? Only I don't exactly fancy bursting into a packed Gryffindor common room…"

"Sure," Neville said at once, eyeing Harry closely.

"We're taking Al to London," Harry offered, because Neville deserved some kind of explanation from him. "To have some tests and things done. At a hospital."

"Oh," Neville said, eyes widening a little.

It looked like he wanted to say something else, but either didn't know what or decided against it. Either way, Harry was grateful. Instead, he clapped Harry on the shoulder and led the way down the corridor.

XxXxX

"This is _Gryffindor _tower, Rosie. He's not supposed to be in here," James said accusingly, eyeing the pale, blond boy his cousin had in tow.

"She made me," Scorpius said at once, looking like he expected to be dive-bombed at any moment.

Rose rolled her eyes at both of them. "Way to throw me under the bus, Scorp. Relax, it's only for a few seconds."

"He better not know our password," James said warningly.

"She made me plug my ears, turn around, and sing 'Odo the Hero' as loud as I could," Scorpius assured him.

Fred and the rest of James's friends snickered.

"Whipped," Fred whispered loudly.

Scorpius flushed and edged away from Rose, who turned a scorching look on her cousin. Fred and James took great pleasure in heckling Rose and her _friend._ Then she turned back to James.

"Have you been up to the hospital wing today?" she asked him, looking irritated, though for once it didn't seem to be with him.

"Um… why would I?" James said blankly.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because your brother's up there."

"Your point?"

Now she was starting to get irritated with him.

"Madam Pomfrey won't let us in to see Al," Scorpius explained.

"Why not?" Fred asked, looking surprised.

But at that moment Neville clambered through the portrait hole. He scanned the room, spotted James, and gestured for him to come over.

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it!" James called reflexively, earning some scattered laughter.

Neville forced a tight smile. "You're not in trouble," he called back.

Fred whistled. "You're witnessing a first here people!"

To the snickers and catcalls of his friends, James heaved himself out of his chair and crossed the common room.

XxX

"Dad. What are you doing here?" James asked, feeling fairly stunned as the Fat Lady swung shut behind him and he spotted his father leaning against the wall a few feet away.

"Hey, mate. Fancy going for a walk?"

James froze instinctively. There was something wrong. He could see it in the way his father was looking at him, feel it like a storm or the heavy, silent second before a towering wave crashes down.

"Why?" he asked.

Neville, who James now noticed was looking somber and anxious, mumbled something and excused himself, disappearing down the corridor.

"Dad, what's going on?" James tried to sound stubborn and not like dread was coiling like a lead chain inside him, but the moment he met his father's gaze, he was sure the scared little kid in him was shining through.

_It's nothing bad, _he tried telling himself. _Just because Dad's here in the middle of the school year with no warning doesn't mean something bad…_

"James…" Harry straightened, and for the first time in James's memory, it seemed to cost him a great effort to meet his eyes. "Your mum and I are taking Albus home for a little while. Madam Pomfrey thinks he could be pretty sick."

"No," James said slowly, shaking his head, even smiling slightly. He'd thought the worst. That his mother was in the hospital or Teddy had been arrested or something crazy like that. But it was just about his little brother, whom he had seen just last night and who was not sick at all. "Al's fine, Dad. It was just a bludger to the face. I mean, sure it left nasty bruise, but it was nothing to call you up to school for. He's probably already fixed up. He's not sick."

But Harry's expression – some conflicting mixture of emotion and blankness that James couldn't make sense of – didn't relax.

"It's a bruise Madam Pomfrey can't heal," he said quietly. "Do you know what Leukemia is?"

James shook his head very slowly.

"Come on, Jamie. Let's take a walk."

Harry held out an arm to him and James, despite being only a few inches shorter than his father and in the middle of the school where anyone could see them, walked right into it.

James listened numbly as his father talked about blood cells and bone marrow and platelets, but somehow he couldn't quite connect it all to Albus. He had played Quidditch with Albus just yesterday, after all. There hadn't been anything wrong with him then. How was it that he was suddenly sick enough to be taken home?

"So – so you think there's something wrong with Al's blood?" James asked when his father paused in his explanation.

Harry nodded.

"And you're taking him to London to have a bunch of Muggle doctors cut him up to tell you if you're right or not?"

Harry hesitated as the part of his brain not currently being numbed by the news of his son having cancer stirred at the phrasing James used. But he did not have the energy to lecture on open-mindedness and equality just now.

"Yes, James. Muggle doctors know more about this than the Healers at St. Mungo's. They'll be able to treat him."

"Treat him?" James questioned. "How long will it take for Al to get better?"

They had stopped beside one of the back staircases, hardly ever used by students outside class hours. James looked up at his father again, waiting for an answer.

"I – we don't know how long it will take," Harry admitted and James thought his voice sounded rather choked.

Something fluttered in James's stomach at these words. He pulled away from his father's comforting arm so that he could face him squarely.

"Dad?" he asked, voice shaking slightly. "Al _is _going to get better, isn't he? They can cure him, right?"

Harry raised his head to look into James's face. He thought about saying 'of course your brother will get better' if only to hear the words himself. But the truth was, Albus might not. And James ought to know about that chance from the start.

"They might be able to make him better…." he said.

James swallowed. "But they might not be able to?"

Harry nodded again.

"What happens if they can't cure him?" James demanded.

Harry looked away again, unwilling to say the words out loud.

"Dad," James said more insistently, pulling on Harry's arm as if he were a little kid again. "What happens if they can't make Albus better?"

"He'll die."

The words were barely a whisper, but they seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth.

James sank down onto the top step of the staircase beside them. Harry sat down next to him and put his arm back around James's shoulders, maybe needing to hold onto the son he was sure wasn't going anywhere. They sat in silence for a few minutes until Harry said he had to get back to the hospital wing to help Ginny get Albus home.

"No," James muttered when his father asked if he wanted to come and say goodbye. It was the saying goodbye part that James refused.

"You want me to walk you back to Gryffindor Tower?" Harry asked as he got to his feet.

James shook his head. He could not imagine walking back into the common room, back to the friends he had left less than half an hour ago, back before the world was spinning out. Harry nodded as if he understood.

He reached down to run a hand through James's messy hair. "We'll see you, Jamie."

"Dad?" James asked suddenly, looking up. "Write to me? When you know for sure. Write to me."

"Sure, Jamie. Promise."

Harry nodded one more time, rested his hand on James's shoulder for a moment, then headed back to the hospital wing.

James heaved himself up off the step and began to wander. He didn't have an exact idea of where he was, only that the afternoon sun falling through the high windows and pooling heavily on the floor didn't seem to have any warmth. His brain seemed to have been scrambled, and in the chaos a memory leapt forward.

_Albus, no older than four or five, stood silhouetted in the doorway to James's bedroom, the hall light illuminating his dragon pajamas, his old stuffed lion clutched to his chest._

"_James, there's a giant snake under my bed."_

"_So? What do you want me to do about it?"_

"_Spook it away like Teddy does!"_

"_Why can't Daddy spook it away?"_

"_He didn't see Teddy do it. He doesn't know how."_

"_Well neither do I." _

"_James, it's gonna get me!"_

"_Then I guess you'll get eated!" _

"_James!"_

_Albus was on the verge of wailing by this point. His eyes were huge green pools of fright. _

"_Alright, fine. I'll protect you." _

XxXxX

"Can I get you anything?"

"No, really Mum. I'm fine," Albus insisted for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

His mother looked down, smoothing the sheets she had tucked around him. He saw her biting her lip and reached out a hand to put on her shoulder. Being told he might be dying had, ironically, not been the hardest part of that day. Seeing his parents being told he might be dying had been so much worse.

All the philosophical ponderings of death and life, pain and illness and facing mortality were still churning in a dark storm cloud above his head, the reality of the situation just waiting to crash down on him. But the sting of seeing his mother on the edge of… _something, _seeing his father _afraid_, was very, very real.

"Mum?" he said softly. "You know it's going to be okay, don't you? Even if something's wrong with me, it's going to be okay."

Ginny gave her son a watery smile and leaned forward to kiss his forehead.

"Look at me, being comforted by my bruised-up baby boy."

"I'm _twelve_, Mum," Albus told her in a long-suffering tone.

Ginny laughed just a little bit and slid onto the bed beside him, putting her arms around him.

"Haven't I told you lot enough times? You will _always _be my babies, even if I'm the one in diapers."

"Mum," Albus complained, embarrassed as always.

But he tucked his head on her shoulder anyway.

XxXxX

Standing outside the familiar gate, Harry wondered how he could walk into the Burrow and not crumble into a heap. He and Ginny had ended up flipping a coin to see who would pick up Lily. It seemed a year had passed since they had dropped her off with her grandparents that morning to go up to Hogwarts. The haze from earlier had lifted somewhat, but now he felt as though great cinders had been hefted onto his shoulders, keeping him staggering off balance.

Then suddenly the door to the Burrow burst open, and his daughter came flying at him, red hair streaming. And there was no more time to contemplate; he took a breath and pushed forward.

"Daddy!" Lily squealed, leaping up to fasten her arms around his neck for a quick peck on the cheek before dropping back to the ground and swinging off his arm as they made their way up to the house. "So, is Al in a lot of trouble?"

_More than we'd ever imagined._

"No, bud, it wasn't like that."

"Oh," Lily sounded almost disappointed. "I thought he might be getting cool."

"You're spending too much time around James," Harry told her, climbing the back steps.

He could see Mrs. Weasley watching them from the window and Hugo hanging around the open door.

Ron, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley were sitting around the scrubbed kitchen table. Harry had hoped that the last lingerers from Sunday lunch would have gone home by now, but evidently Ron and Hermione had stuck around so that Hugo could play with Lily. And for one of the first times _ever _he was not happy to see them. If Harry had thought facing Mrs. Weasley after the events of that day would be difficult, it would be nothing compared to Ron and Hermione.

But he just _could not _face another discussion like the one he had had to have with James earlier. Not right then, anyway.

"How'd it go?" Ron asked the moment he saw Harry.

"Al's not even in trouble," Lily reported over her shoulder as she and Hugo scurried off to the sitting room.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Hermione said, smiling as she got up to get Harry some coffee.

Harry thought about taking it. About sitting down and making small-talk and pretending, even for just a little while, that everything was normal just a little bit longer. About putting off the moment when he would have to go home and face his probably-extremely-sick son and half-terrified wife.

But he couldn't. He knew that he could not keep that charade going, not when Albus was bobbing in the back of his mind, when just having him out of his sight long enough to pick Lily up had him scared something might happen while he was gone.

So he shook his head at Hermione. "Sorry, but I can't stay. I've got to get home." He crossed the kitchen and poked his head into the sitting room. "Hey, Bud. We've got to get going. Mum's waiting for us."

Lily crawled out from the makeshift fort she and Hugo had spent the afternoon constructing, looking perplexed. The adults _always _spent ages talking. She began gathering up her things into the red shoulder bag she had recently taken to hauling everywhere.

"So what's going on, then?" Ron asked from the table behind Harry.

He tried hard to keep his expression together as he turned back to them and mumbled, "Nothing."

All four of the others exchanged unconvinced looks.

"Come on, mate," Ron pressed. "You got called up to the school. Something must be going on."

But at that moment, Lily appeared at his side, pulling her ballerina slippers back on, bag slung over her shoulder, and Harry started to chivy her to the fireplace.

"Look, it's a long story and I haven't got much time," he mumbled.

Mrs. Weasley hugged both Lily and Harry, looking searchingly into his face before she let him go. He threw some floo powder into the fire.

"Listen, Lil, we've got to be extra quiet when we get home, alright? Albie's upstairs, probably trying to sleep," Harry muttered just before Lily stepped into the flames.

That stopped her in her tracks. She turned right around and looked straight up at him. "Why?"

Harry suddenly became aware of the whole kitchen listening. "Mum and I'll tell you when we get home," he told her.

But Lily wasn't satisfied that easily. "Dad, how come Al's home now? It's nowhere near the holidays. What's going on?"

The rest were watching him with similar expressions. Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

"Later," he said, casting a pleading look at Ron and Hermione and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "I promise, I'll talk to you later, but I can't do this right now. Go on, Lily."

XxXxX

Albus stared at the glowing face of his alarm clock. It was nearly ten thirty. He was exhausted and sore, as if he'd spent the day running a marathon rather than lying in bed, and he had to get up in six and a half hours so that they could be in London for the appointment Healer Hart had made for him at the Cancer Center. But the last thing he felt like doing was sleeping.

Whatever he told his parents, his insides were squirming with a nervousness bordering on fear. He tried very hard to remind himself that the Muggle doctors knew what they were doing and their methods only seemed crude because they didn't have instant fixes with magic. But all he kept remembering were the needles and tubes that had been stuck in Dudley's daughter when they'd gone to visit her after she got her appendix cut out. It had given him nightmares.

And worse than trepidation over what might happen to him tomorrow, there was the trepidation over what would change tomorrow. Right now, all that was wrong with him was a nasty bruise. This time tomorrow, he would be really sick. For sure. No room left for doubt or hope.

The door to his bedroom creaked open, hall light pouring in and making him squint. A dark hump crawled over the threshold and shut the door again.

"Albie? Are you awake?" Lily's voice came uncertainly from where she was huddled beside his door, as if, perhaps, she didn't really believe he was there at all.

"Yeah, I'm awake," he told her after a minute.

Apparently his parents had told Lily not to disturb him because he'd barely known she was in the house all evening. Lily was not a naturally quiet person, and this was the first time in his memory that she had not flown at him the moment she found out he was home as if magnetic forces pulled them together.

Lily crawled across his bedroom floor and climbed up onto the end of his bed, light from under the door just enough for him to make out her hunched figure.

"Mum and Dad say you're sick," Lily whispered.

"Yeah, that's what they told us," Albus whispered back.

Lily paused, cocking her head. They could hear murmured voices from the sitting room below.

"They're talking to Ron and Hermione. And Teddy," Lily explained. "Trying to figure out what to do with me while they take you to London."

"Probably beam you back up to the alien planet you came from," Albus told her slyly, propping himself up against the headboard.

"Al!" Lily complained, giving the bottom of his foot a sharp poke through the covers. But she giggled. Albus thought she sounded relieved to find his sense of humor still intact.

"Mum and Dad say you'll be gone awhile," Lily went on, quiet again.

"Few days, a week," Albus shrugged. "Mum and Dad can apparate back to see you."

"Yeah, that's what they told me when they tucked me in. They both tucked me in. They haven't done that in ages…."

Lily crawled up to sit against Al's headboard beside him. For a long time neither one of them said anything, listening to the murmur of voices from the sitting room, pretending they could make out words.

"They're scared," Lily said at last.

Albus nodded, though she couldn't see.

"Are you scared?" her voice was little more than a breath.

_You have no idea how much_.

"Me? Scared? Psh, where do you get such foolishness?"

Lily giggled again as Albus flung an arm around her shoulders in the dark and messed up her hair.

"Promise you'll be okay, Albie."

Albus started to tell her he _couldn't _promise something like that. But something – maybe the big brother in him – stopped him.

"Promise. It'll be okay."

"Pinky promise?" Lily pressed, and even though he couldn't see her expression in the dark, Albus knew the earnest look she was giving him.

He rolled his eyes, but found her hand in the gloom and hooked his little finger around hers.

XxXxX

The hospital in London made Albus think of a monster. It was huge and cold and walking through the great electronic glass doors gave him the distinct impression of being swallowed up by a great mouth. The _fffsss_ of the doors shutting seemed to reverberate like the snap of a jaw.

The atrium was high-ceilinged and shiny, with too-green plants stuck between waiting chairs and tables piled with old, Muggle magazines. Even at seven in the morning, people sat, looking tired and tense.

Harry led the way over to a woman sitting behind a long counter. Ginny fell a step behind, out of her element, and wrapped an arm around her son, pulling him closer to her side, as if unwilling to turn him over to the imposing building.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, but the woman didn't look up from her computer. Maybe it was the early hour or the nerves finally getting to him, but Albus found it very funny for some reason, to see his father being ignored by anyone. He did not think he'd ever been out in public without having every eye focused on them, and here this woman sat, unaware that she was ignoring the savior of the world. Albus had to bite his lip to stop form bursting out laughing, especially when he remembered the little plaque by the door proclaiming something along the lines of 'we save lives'. How ironic.

But Harry was unperturbed. Any anonymity was fine by him. At least he did not have to fear an article in the _Prophet_ about this.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked, finally glancing at them.

"Yes. Er, we've got an appointment with Dr. Norton," Harry told her.

The woman finally turned to look at them properly. Her gaze slid to Albus and a brief look of sympathy flashed across her face.

"Pediatrics, fifth floor," she told them, gesturing down past the counter.

Albus wondered how many dying people she watched come in and out each day.

Harry mumbled a thank-you and ushered them in the direction the woman had pointed, towards a set of sliding silver doors. _Elevator_, Albus though, remembering pictures his grandfather had shown him, explaining the pulley system with excitement. _Granddad would probably have a field day here_…

The doors sprang open with a ding. The three of them stepped inside, and Harry pressed a button with the number five on it. The tiny box began to rise and Albus couldn't help but think _down the monster's throat_.

They repeated the same charade on the fifth floor, but this time the receptionist handed Harry a thick stack of papers and a clip-board and told them to have a seat. The chairs seemed to be designed like prison cells, hard, cold, uncomfortable and isolating. Albus sat between his parents, his father on one side, pouring over the paperwork, mouthing words now and again as if he were trying to read a foreign language, and his mother on the other side, her hands trying to find a way to reach him around the high, wooden armrest that separated them.

It seemed like the longest wait of his life. The receptionist clacked away at her computer, nurses in luridly cheery patterned scrubs squeaked across the tiled floors in their tennis shoes, and a TV put on mute showed some Muggle cartoon. There was only one other family in the waiting area with them, sitting at the far end. Albus watched the two little girls playing at their parents' feet and wondered which one had brought them here and which one had been dragged along for the ride.

XxXxX

It was the quiet that woke Lily. Or rather, the oppressive need for quiet, which in fact amplified every sound in ringing sharpness. It pressed down on the movements of the house, a ceiling on volume that the rest must belly-crawl under like soldiers beneath barbed wire, put in place, ironically, for the sole purpose of not waking her.

Knowing that she was not supposed to be awake, Lily curled into a tight, tight ball beneath her blankets and tried to hide from the sounds, but they found her anyway. The whispers from the kitchen, the swift movements in the hall, the trickle of water in the bathroom, the opening and closing of the back door, hum of a motor, crunch of gravel, and finally, loudest of all, the sticky, yawning silence.

She tried to fall back into sleep, perhaps half-hoping to convince herself the noises had been a dream and be able to forget them all together. But the sun had climbed into her room and gotten beneath her eyelids and poked and prodded until she was wide awake, lying beneath that heavy silence, feeling it press her flat into her mattress until she would be swallowed up into the feathers for ever and ever.

With a tremendous effort, Lily fought off the press and flung back the covers, leaping into the chilly air with a rush of satisfaction, rebelling against the comfort of her cocoon. The door was another challenge, mustering up the courage to venture out of her room and into this strange, changed new world. But the knowledge that it already existed beyond her bedroom door already contaminated the bubble of normalcy that was her room in this sudden flood of unknowns. It was already straining and would pop soon and fling her into the waves. Better to go prepared.

With a great breath, Lily flung open her door and peaked into the hall. It had changed already. Although it pretended to be exactly the same as yesterday morning, she could see quite plainly its alien nature and so moved cautiously. To try to prove it wrong, Lily hopped the squeaky boards in a pattern she knew to be utterly silent, testing for a slip-up, a squeak. But the pretender was flawless and did not yield noise.

Clinging to this silence, she swept down the stairs as lightly as a shadow, imagining her white nightdress to be spiritine, making her appear like an echo.

At the kitchen doorway, Lily stopped, half-hidden behind the wall. Hermione sat at their kitchen table, sipping coffee and pretending to read the paper, though her eyes were not moving along the print. She did not notice Lily watching her with owl eyes, and Lily did not make a peep, afraid of shattering the silence. For all its weight, it seemed strangely fragile, and it occurred to Lily that perhaps the silence was merely a sheet of glass holding back the flood bearing down on them.

Lily held her breath as she waited, playing a game with herself, standing on one foot then the other, not making a sound and sure that her aunt would notice her before she cracked and toppled sideways or let loose the breath trapped inside her.

Contrary to popular belief, Lily Luna Potter could be quiet. She could be very, very quiet if she were so inclined. It was just that she had never been so inclined before the Silence.

Just as Lily imagined all the air trapped in her lungs was making her rise off the ground like a balloon, Hermione noticed her standing there and nearly spilled her coffee all down her front in surprise.

"Lily! I didn't hear you get up."

She jumped to her feet, sending the paper sliding across the table top. She was flustered, as if suddenly she found herself grasping the air for words and finding none. More proof of the changed world.

"Do you want - ? I'll make you some breakfast."

Hermione ushered Lily across the cold, slidey linoleum and into a chair, then turned and began pulling things out of cupboards, half the time putting them back. Several times she glanced over at Lily like she wished she could say something, but those words were too thin in the air today. Lily wondered if that was a symptom of Leukemia as she fidgeted beneath the heavy Silence.

XxXxX

James felt like a groggy sea creature swimming up from the dark, weed-filled beds of the ocean floor. He had not fallen asleep until the moon had disappeared into the horizon some time very early that morning and had somehow stumbled through a shower still mostly asleep. Now he stood in the doorway to the Great Hall, surrounded by the clatter of breakfast and feeling all-of-a-sudden too hot and closed-in by people.

"Hey, Potter. Where'd you disappear to yesterday?"

James started at his cousin's voice and looked around. Fred had appeared behind him, grinning and carefree as ever, and James felt his stomach turn over.

_It's not his fault_.

But Fred was the one who put Albus in the hospital wing. And if that hadn't happened, Al would be sitting at the Gryffindor table, trying to finish his transfiguration homework in his lap so that Rose wouldn't notice.

_It's not his fault_.

But Fred was the one who plastered a bruise that couldn't be healed across his little brother's face.

_It's not his fault_.

But in a way, it was.

And suddenly James was shoving his way past Fred, past the rest of his friends, and running across the entrance hall, bursting out onto the frosty grounds. He couldn't sit down to breakfast. He couldn't stay in the castle surrounded by people who thought today was just an ordinary day like all the rest. There was something leaping inside him like flames, and it spurred James to run as fast as he could. Like maybe he could outrun everything that was closing in on him.


	3. Chapter 3

**P/N: So here is the most amazing third part to "Reeling in the Wake" that we all hope you will enjoy. Also, I designed a cover for the story, which you can see in the upper left corner of the screen. I hope you'll agree with me that this section is totally amazing, and I could not wait to get it out for all to read. Can't wait to read the next section, either. Reviews are always appreciated, of course! Please enjoy. ALSO thank you ALL for the reviews! They are all much appreciated.  
**

"Albus Potter."

Gentle hands shook Albus's shoulder.

"Sweetheart," his mother's voice said softly. "It's time to go back."

Albus straightened up, blinking hazily at the rows of empty plastic chairs, the whitewashed walls, the woman with her halo of blond curls, her flowered scrubs, her glossed pink lips. The little girls from the other side of the room were gone, he noticed. A teenaged boy with a gray hoodie pulled over his bald head had taken their place, ipod cranked so loud Albus could hear the drumbeat from across the room. He must have fallen asleep waiting. Maybe all that wonderful normalcy he'd grown up with had been the dream and this was the reality. The thought made him shiver.

"Come on, mate," Harry murmured, getting to his feet, leading the way because he could at least do that for his son.

Slowly, Albus followed him. The woman who his father said was called a nurse smiled at him before turning on her heel and marching up the corridor. It didn't ease the knot hardening in his stomach. Not at all.

The corridor seemed to stretch on forever. Shiny linoleum speckled here and there with different colored tiles in a sad attempt to cheer the place up reflected the miles of florescent lights that buzzed in the snowy silence of the ward. Closed doors broke the peach-painted walls and gauzy pastel curtains added their own Easter flair at random intervals. It was like someone was trying to disguise a wrecking ball with a patchwork quilt: the cheerful wrapper didn't change what it was there for.

The smiling nurse stopped abruptly at one of the pastel curtains, and they had to shuffle to a halt behind her, trying not to step on each other's heels.

"Let's get you prepped and ready, hon," the nurse said lightly. Her nametag read _Peggy _in loopy writing.

She pulled back the pastel curtain with a rasp and Albus saw a row of cubbies and beyond them a half-open door leading to a small bathroom. Peggy had already moved over to the first cubby and was pulling some mint green garment off the shelf which she handed to Al.

"You can put your things in here. There's a key if you'd like to lock it. Bathroom's through there. Then we'll get you to a room and hopefully there'll be enough time for the numbing agent."

She smiled again like she'd just offered him a hot plate of chocolate chip cookies and gave him a gentle nudge in the direction of the bathroom. Albus took a stumbling step forward, swallowing hard. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his knees quaking. What exactly were they about to do to him? Why did he have to change? Numbing agent?

A steadying hand found his shoulder. His father was at his side, guiding him into the bathroom.

"You'll be fine," he promised quietly. "Mum and I'll be there the whole time."

And then he was closing the door behind him, and Albus stood alone in the cold, gray-tiled bathroom.

XxXxX

A swirl of green flames erupted in the fireplace, and Lily watched from between the bars of the staircase as a small, red-haired figure was expelled onto the hearth rug. Hugo picked himself up, brushing the ash out of his mop of red curls as, behind him, Ron stepped somewhat more gracefully into the living room.

"Ron?" Hermione called from the kitchen where she was washing dishes. She was washing them with sponges and not magic. Like Daddy did sometimes when his eyes were stormy and they were all to be mouse-quiet.

Hermione's head appeared around the kitchen door and a fluttery smile ran across her face when she saw the new arrivals.

"Hey," Ron said, ducking his head to kiss her cheek.

Hugo made a face and turned away, scanning all the usual hiding places. "Where's Lily?"

Lily scooted higher up the staircase, suddenly unwilling to be drawn out of her observing perch. But it wasn't her best hiding place, and Hugo spotted the movement. As his parents exchanged low murmurs, heads close together, he trotted over to the stairs and looked up at her.

Lily wondered if he knew about the Silence as he slowly mounted the steps, looking at her cautiously. And she realized he must see it wrapped around her and that was why he was looking at her so weird now, like he didn't know how to talk to her. Because there had never been anything to separate them in all their lives, and now there was.

XxXxX

The bell echoed across the cold grounds. It sounded hollow and strange stretched out across frosted grass and icy water. James didn't make a move to get up from his tree stump. He reached down and raked his frozen fingers along the hard ground until he found a stone that could be dug out.

When he'd cleared it of its burrow he pulled his arm back to hurl it as hard as he could into the iron gray depths of the lake. But at the last second James pivoted around and the stone flew into the woods, smacking against a tree with a satisfying crack and startling a flock of birds from their roosts.

James breathed out, his breath swirling in a cloud of steam that dissipated in the cold morning. He bent down to retrieve another stone.

XxXxX

"Should it be taking him this long?" Ginny murmured.

Harry glanced at the blond nurse gathering bottles and tubes from a supply cupboard across the hall and stepped forward to knock on the closed bathroom door. "How's it coming in there, Al?"

There was a pause. Then Al's muffled voice came through the door, almost a whine. "Do I have to wear this?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows at Harry, whose lips had quirked into a faint smile. "Yeah, mate, you do. Don't worry about it. It's in fashion here, you'll fit right in."

The door cracked open enough for one of Albus's green eyes to peek dubiously out at them behind the round lens of his glasses. "Dad, it's a _dress_," he whispered. "And not even one that closes properly."

"They _are_ called hospital gowns," Harry told him, trying hard not to be amused by the scandalized note in his son's voice.

"Perfect. I'm ready for the ball," Albus groaned.

"Come on, sweetheart, it can't be that bad," Ginny soothed.

"It can," Albus mumbled as the nurse bustled over.

"All ready?" she asked.

Albus looked at his parents. Then, with a sigh, he opened the door all the way and shuffled into the corridor, head ducked and heat creeping up his pale cheeks. The papery hospital gown rustled as he shivered in the ice-box-wannabe of a hospital. Goosebumps had already run up his arms.

Harry clapped a bracing hand on his shoulder as the nurse checked that the gown was on correctly and beckoned them to follow her even farther down the corridor.

XxXxX

Rose dropped into the last front row seat just as the bell rang.

"Cutting it awfully fine, Miss Weasley," the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher said without even looking away from what he was writing on the blackboard.

"Sorry, Professor Stone."

The boy sharing Rose's desk wrinkled his nose as he looked over at her. "What did I do wrong to get stuck next to you?"

"Shut up, Scorp," Rose hissed, punching her friend's arm.

"Ow! Merlin, Weasley. Go fight a troll or something," Scorpius complained, rubbing his wounded shoulder.

"Going off your last round of marks I'd say I already am," Rose whispered sweetly as Professor Stone turned around to begin the lecture.

"Sheesh, you're mean today. Where's Al? I want to trade partners."

Professor Stone had pinned them with the spotlight of his gaze, drumming his fingers impatiently on the desk, so Rose had to turn back to the front.

"Now that we're all here and paying attention…."

As Stone began the class, and Scorpius began drawing yetis in the margins of his notes, Rose scribbled away furiously. Scorpius was just putting the finishing touches on a particularly ugly beast when he felt a sharp prod in his side. Assuming it had to do with his art project, he glanced over to tell Rose that it was, in fact, relevant to the class as he'd read the next chapter in their text book last night and that she should try to keep up. But Rose wasn't even looking at him. He was about to poke her back and get back to his drawing when he noticed the folded piece of parchment lying beside his elbow.

Scorpius surreptitiously unfolded the parchment, shooting a curious look at Rose. Usually she was the one telling him and Albus off for passing notes in class. Or just intercepting them and reading them out loud.

_I don't know where Al is_.

He stared down at the line written in Rose's neat script, perplexed. Then Scorpius grabbed a quill and scribbled back, _What do you mean?_

_I mean I haven't seen him since Saturday._

Scorpius looked around, craning his neck to see the back row, sure Albus's dark head would be bent over one of the desks. Hadn't he seen him come in with Rose? Or this morning in the corridor. He was sure he'd spotted him then.

Rose poked him again. She'd written something else.

_James is MIA too. Haven't seen him since Neville called him out of the common room last night._

Scorpius shot her a quizzical look as he slipped his next message to her under the desk.

_Do you think something's wrong? You know, with your family?_

It took a few minutes for Rose's reply to come back.

_No one's told __me__ anything_.

But the look on her face said everything.

When the bell rang and the rest of their class stampeded for the door, Scorpius hung back and waited for Rose to slowly gather her things. She didn't say anything until they'd emerged into the hall, by then considerably less packed as the student body raced for lunch, and then she spoke so quietly Scorpius barely caught it.

"He said 'now that we're all here'."

"Huh?"

Rose stopped at the end of the corridor and swung her bag up onto a window ledge.

"He said," she repeated, now pulling herself up beside her bag, " 'now that we're all here'. Professor Stone, when I came in almost late. There was an empty seat right behind me for Al and Professor Stone said 'now that we're all here'."

"Maybe he didn't notice," Scorpius suggested, scrambling up beside Rose and shaking his pale bangs out of his eyes. "He doesn't usually take attendance."

Rose bit her lip. "He saw us passing notes and he didn't stop us."

"How do you know he saw?"

"How could he not? We were sitting right in front of him. He's the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He was in the Auror program before Fudge kicked him out 'cause he sided with Dumbledore back in the war."

"How do you know stuff like this?" Scorpius asked, slightly slack-jawed.

Rose gave him an impatient look. "The point is, he let us get away with passing notes, and he never does that."

"And you think because Stone's going soft your family's in crisis?"

"Where're Al and James?" Rose shot back, jumping down off the ledge.

XxXxX

The waiting was the worst part. Albus squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to see the long, thin, sinister-looking needle hover hungrily above his pale skin. But he could still feel the nurse's waxy, gloved fingers gently coaxing a vein into position. He wished Madam Pomfrey was here to do it fast, before he even knew what was coming.

They'd taken three different vials of blood from him in the past hour. He'd made the mistake of watching what they were doing the first time and nearly passed out. So now he sat in the dark and waited tensely.

"You'll just feel a pinch," the nurse warned, even though Albus knew it was a lie.

The deceptively soothing cool of the disinfectant wipe skated over his elbow, and then the needle bit into him. Albus bit down on his lip as he felt the prick run up the nerves and muscles in his arm, felt the nurse dig the needle point around under his skin.

"Still doing okay, hon?" he heard her ask from far away.

Squeezing his eyes shut tighter, Albus nodded. _It'll be over in a minute,_ he reassured himself, feeling the painful tightness of the band – tourniquet – they'd tied around his upper arm to swell the veins. _It's always over in a minute..._

XxXxX

"Lily? Liii-lyyy."

Lily blinked and turned from the window, following the rays of sunlight that streamed onto the kitchen table.

"Have you finished your multiplication table yet?" Hermione asked for what was probably not the first time, although she didn't seem impatient like Lily might have expected her to. Another slip-up of the changed world.

Lily glanced down at the workbook before her. The numbers marched in neat black rows, completely uninterrupted by a single pencil mark. Hugo's book beside hers was filled with scribbles, and beneath each imperious X there was a number circled as the answer. Lily nodded and closed her book.

Hugo looked at his mother, who was watching Lily with the sort of inscrutable look that made her squirm in her seat. Of all the different teachers that took over Lily and Hugo's lessons, Hermione was the toughest. But to both children's surprise and slight shock, Hermione copied her niece and snapped her book shut.

"Why don't we have a practical lesson today," she said, standing up. "If I have…" she dug around in her pocket and brought out a handful of Muggle change, "six pounds and an ice cream cone costs one and a half pounds, can we each have one when we walk into the village?"

"Yes!" Hugo said excitedly, leaping out of his seat and racing for the front hall.

Lily slid to the floor more slowly, snatching glances at her aunt out of the corner of her eye. Hermione was still watching her with that funny look. Like she thought Lily might break or something.

"Lily? Can you tell me how much I'll have left?"

"No," Lily told her, looking earnestly up at her aunt.

"Why not?" Hermione asked, obviously surprised by the response. Lily was good at maths normally. And she never backed down from a challenge of any kind.

"Because even though you think you know how something's going to turn out, you can still be wrong!" Lily burst out.

Then she spun, red hair whipping through the air, and dashed out of the kitchen after Hugo.

XxXxX

Ten minutes into his first afternoon class, Neville saw the greenhouse door crack open and James Potter slink in. James didn't look at him, and Neville didn't even falter in the lecture he was giving on pruning flutterby bushes, but he watched as James skirted the glass walls, looking for an open spot. Neville watched as Fred spotted his cousin and waved him over, pointing at the stool he'd saved across the table. And Neville watched as James turned away and threw his bag down beside the nearest table, apparently not noticing that he was on the Slytherin half of the greenhouse.

Fred glanced confusedly at the other third year Gryffindor boys around him, who just shrugged. Then he looked back over at James, who, after snapping something under his breath at the glowering girl beside him, had buried his head in his folded arms.

XxXxX

The hospital must have been a hectic place. Doctors, nurses, and orderlies bustled past the door to Albus's room, speaking in rapid medic-lingo and always in a hurry. Most of the time, none of them even spared a glance for the twelve-year-old boy shivering away on the examination table, waiting for them to decide what his life would be like from now on – or if he'd have one at all. But once in a while someone seemed to remember his existence and for a few minutes the room would flood with staff and their jabbing needles explaining in carefully trained, optimistic voices what was happening to all the blood and test readings they kept taking away – not that Albus or his parents could understand very much of what they said.

Around noon, Harry had ventured out to find food and returned with a vending machine lunch none of them had felt much like eating. And now, finally, the doctor they had come at seven o'clock this morning to see swept through the door, examining the top clipboard in the stack of at least five or six he was carrying.

"Albus Potter?" he asked, flashing a white smile and pulling the wheeled stool across the slick floor to sit opposite Harry and Ginny across Al's bed. Out of the corner of his eye, Albus saw his mother slip her hand into his father's.

Albus nodded, pushing himself up against the headrest and wincing when his weight landed on the arm they'd pricked four times with a needle. He tried to adjust the papery gown so less of his back was against the cold metal, but it slipped around on his skin and wouldn't stay closed properly.

"Dr. Norton," the doctor introduced himself, offering a firm hand for Albus to shake. "Haven't the nurses shown you all the perks of the room yet?"

Dr. Norton reached across Albus and grabbed a remote strapped to the bedrail. He jabbed a green arrow and the upper end of the mattress began to raise itself with a low hum.

"Sweet," Albus breathed, momentarily mesmerized.

Dr. Norton spent another couple minutes showing Albus what all the other buttons did, showing off the hospital's movie channel on the small TV monitor in the corner, how to open and close the blinds and other little distractions to stave off boredom for a twelve-year-old boy confined to a bed all day. But the distractions couldn't last forever.

"Well, at this point all I can really tell you is what I think you already know," Dr. Norton said eventually, leaning back in his chair and perusing the chart resting on his knee. "We've done all the easy tests, run the blood work. But all l can say right now is that it looks like leukemia. Probably ALL, acute lymphoblastic leukemia, given age and what I've seen of the blood tests. Too many immature white blood cells. But before everyone starts packing in for the day and we leave you alone to binge on action films, there's one more thing I'm going to sign off on. We need some bone marrow, from you, Albus. Would it be alright if we took some?"

XxXxX

_Step on a crack, break your mother's back_. _Step on a line, break your father's spine_.

Lily chanted the old nursery rhyme in her head, keeping her eyes fixed on the pavement before her, hopping on tiptoes over every fracture before her so that it looked like she was preforming some sort of dance. She had hated the rhyme ever since James had taught it to her years and years ago. Teddy had once had to carry her home in tears because she'd tripped over a particularly uneven crack and been convinced she'd put her parents in the hospital.

But today she couldn't shake it out of her head. She couldn't look up from the pavement because it played on a loop in her ears, and somehow it kept her marching forward. A rhythm, a drumbeat. The strawberry ice cream Hermione had bought her was dripping down her hand, but Lily couldn't look away long enough to lick it.

Hugo plodded along just ahead of her, already crunching on his cone and swinging off his mother's hand. From time to time he looked back at her, but the Silence was still there, and when she didn't meet his eyes, he quickly looked away.

They were almost out of town when it happened. Almost away from the dangerous jigsaw pavement and onto the smooth dirt path that wound its way out into the countryside and the cottages scattered there, when a gray streak shot out of an alley to her left. Lily jumped back with a squeak as the cat cut across her path so close, its rough tail brushed her shins. Her half-melted ice cream cone fell with a plop at her feet, cold, sticky pink cream spattering her ballet shoes.

But Lily hardly noticed. Ahead of her, she was aware of Hermione turning around, of Hugo lamenting the mess of her ice cream, but it seemed to come at a great distance. The world had zeroed in on just one thing: the wide rift that snaked through the worn cement right beneath her shoes.

_Step on a crack, break your brother's back._

XxXxX

It was called a bone marrow aspiration, Dr. Norton told them. He'd brought them down to the third floor to do it, to a small, bare room with little more than an examination table and a counter stocked with medical instruments and machinery.

Albus lay facedown on the examination table, head pillowed on his folded arms, breathing rather quickly and fidgeting around as he listened to Dr. Norton gathering things from the counter. Harry went to stand by his head, putting a calming hand on his shoulder blades.

"It'll be over soon," he assured his son for the hundredth time that day. "Then we can go upstairs and check out those films. What do you think of that? I saw _all three _Avengers movies on there…."

He kept talking to keep Albus distracted, going on about films and comic books and special effects and whatever he could think of as Dr. Norton clanged around in the background. He shot a look at Ginny, hoping she would join in and help him out, but she seemed to need the distraction as much as Albus. She was running her fingers through his hair, determinedly looking down at him and not at the equipment surrounding them, biting down on her lip hard.

She hadn't been able to look either when they'd taken Al's blood. For a moment, Harry had been worried that _she _might pass out, but she'd closed her eyes and leaned against the wall and managed to make it through without Albus noticing her queasiness. Harry suspected that it was the first time she'd been around a needle in her entire life.

"Alright, all ready," Dr. Norton announced, turning around, syringe in hand.

Harry could feel Albus's whole body tense up and internally glared at the doctor for ruining any distraction his natter might have created.

Norton folded back the hospital gown so that Albus's lower back was bare and ran a disinfectant swab over the skin. Albus pressed face into the mattress, but Harry could still see his neck and ears glowing red with embarrassment.

"You're going to feel a prick," Dr. Norton warned only seconds before he pushed the needle into Albus's skin. Albus jumped, and Ginny closed her eyes, still caressing the back of her son's head. "It's just to numb the area," Norton was going on. "So you won't feel the next one so much. We'll give it a minute to take effect. Give me the thumbs up when you can't feel anything down here."

It seemed to take a long time. Or maybe Albus didn't feel much like giving the go-ahead to jam a needle into his bone, because when Norton asked five minutes later if he was numb, Albus gave a barely discernible jerk of the head.

Ginny had closed her eyes again, and even Harry had to look away as Dr. Norton prepared for the actual procedure. He had to fight against every instinct he had not to pull his wand on the doctor as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the impossibly long needle stab through his son's back into the curve of his hip.

Albus gave an involuntary yelp. His knuckles were white clutching the edge of the table. Harry knelt down so that he could murmur comfortingly into Albus's ear, and when Al turned his face in his father's direction, Harry saw that his cheeks were damp, his face screwed up in pain.

There was a sudden movement to Harry's left. Ginny had opened her eyes at Albus's cry. It was a reflex, an automatic response to that sound. She couldn't stand there with her eyes shut while her child was in pain, but the moment she saw what Dr. Norton was doing, she lost it. She stumbled backwards, feeling lightheaded, and bolted for the door. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't watch this. She couldn't –

The door swung shut behind her with a crash.

"Mum?" Albus whimpered through gritted teeth, feeling her hands leave the back of his head. "Mum?"

"She's alright," Harry assured him. "Just had to step out for a bit. Everything's alright."

He put his other hand where Ginny's had been, gently messaging circles into Al's scalp, keeping up his calm murmurs even though the very last thing he felt was calm. But glittering tears still beaded their way silently along the bruised curve of Albus's cheek.

The reassurance had already faded into the background of the pain flaring in his hip so powerfully that it roared in his ears. He burrowed down inside himself and waited for it to be over.

XxXxX

Harry found her curled on the floor of an empty nurse's station at the end of the hallway, forehead pressed to her folded up knees. Ginny felt sick, but not because of the needle anymore. What kind of mother ran out on her son when he was crying in pain?

"How is he?" she mumbled as Harry sat down beside her, shoulder brushing hers.

"Doing alright," Harry told her. "Dr. Norton got what he needed. He's going to pull a few strings to get the results early. He's putting a bandage on right now. Al's not supposed to shower or get it wet for twenty-four hours, but we'll be here, so that shouldn't be a big deal. Ready to come back in?"

"I'm a terrible person," Ginny said as Harry pulled her to her feet.

"What are you talking about?"

"I _abandoned _my son as he was getting stabbed in the back. Literally. The doctor probably thinks it's my fault half Al's face is black and blue. And now Al's all by himself because you had to come find _me_."

"You're being ridiculous," Harry told her, leading the way back up the corridor. The answering sniff he got made him turn around. Ginny had hidden her face in her hand, but he could see tears trickling between her fingers. "Hey, come on, don't cry, Gin. Everything's –"

"Don't say everything's going to be fine," Ginny said fiercely, rubbing her tears away angrily. "You're just taunting fate."

Passers-by were starting to stare. Harry put his hands on Ginny's shoulders and moved her so that he mostly blocked her from the view of corridor traffic. "Don't do this here," he practically begged. "Just hold it together until Al falls asleep tonight, okay? He doesn't need to see this on top of everything else."

"I know, it's just," Ginny took a shuddering breath, willing the sobs welling up inside of her to dissipate. She was not a crier. With the exceptions of particularly trying moments during her adolescence, she never had been. But this…. "I can't even hold his hand when they start sticking needles in him," she gulped.

"You'll get used to it," Harry promised, squeezing her shoulders. "Trust me, you will."

"It doesn't even faze you, though," Ginny pointed out, mopping her face with the sleeve of her jumper.

"You think I'm just taking this all in stride?" Harry asked with a shaky, disbelieving laugh. "Ginny, I almost hexed the man when I saw what he was about to shove through Al's back. But you'll get used to it for Al's sake. Okay? We're all going to have to get used to it."

Ginny nodded, scrubbing the last of the tears from her face. Harry pulled her into a tight embrace, kissing her forehead quickly before pulling her the rest of the way down the corridor.

XxXxX

"Watcha doin'?" Hugo asked, crawling on his belly under the table beside Lily.

"Coloring," Lily told him, carefully choosing a different colored pencil from the pile beside her elbow.

"A sea monster?" Hugo asked eagerly, craning his neck to see over Lily's shoulder.

"No," she told him, folding her arms over the picture to shield it from prying eyes. "You can't see it. Not until it's finished."

Hugo shrugged, reaching across her to steal a piece of paper from the stack Lily had piled neatly beside the table leg. "Well I'm going to draw a sea monster."

They were at Hugo's house now, in the kitchen of Lily's aunt and uncle's London townhouse. Hermione was clanging pots together by the stove across the room, and Ron had turned on the wireless to broadcast Lee Jordan's evening program as he finished some reports for work at the table above their heads.

The Silence didn't follow them here. At least, it hadn't yet. It was because everything was still ordinary here. But a cold worry that the Silence would fall here too when Albus came home crept up her spine, and so to push it away, she filled the white paper before her with warm, bright colors, carefully bending each line just so.

Beside her, Hugo scribbled away, grabbing pencils without even looking at their color. He already had a purple serpent rising out of a broiling gray sea and had just been struck with the brilliant inspiration to add the Hulk leaping from a mountain top onto its back.

"Lily?" he asked, stealing a glance at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Hm?"

As he reached for the green lying by the top of her paper, he caught sight of the picture. He looked away quickly when she turned questioning eyes on him. "Never mind."

XxXxX

"Hey, James!"

They must have been waiting for him behind the portrait hole because the moment he'd scrambled into the common room they were on him.

"Where have you been all day?" Fred demanded, not even trying to disguise the wounded note in his voice. "You could have at least told me you were gonna skip!"

"Why weren't you at dinner?" Rose inquired, scrutinizing him with those keen blue eyes of hers. "We've been looking for you everywhere."

"Wasn't hungry," James muttered, attempting to push past his cousins. He was not at all in the mood to be ambushed.

"Don't be thick, you missed every meal today!" Fred exclaimed, grabbing James's shoulder.

"I've been in the kitchens," James said shortly, trying to shrug Fred off. "Look, I've got homework, okay?"

"You weren't even in class today," Rose accused, ducking around him to plant herself firmly in his path. "And neither was Al. What's going on, James?"

"Mind your own damn business, Rosie," he snarled, succeeding in shaking Fred off and shoving past her.

"Hey, leave her alone."

A hand grabbed the back of James's collar, fingers digging into his back, and he whipped around to see that his cousin Molly had joined the fray, prefect badge shining severely in the firelight. She was at least a head taller than James, and her sharp features and winged glasses, the way she pulled her bright red hair into a tight bun gave her a McGonagall-like air of authority with most every other student. But James had known her when she'd still carried around a teddy bear, which tended to ruin the effect.

"Did they squeal on me for cutting class? Going to give me detention, your most high and mighty Head-Girl-wannabe?" he sneered, not entirely sure where all the hostility was coming from but unable to tamp it down.

"What's your problem?" Fred asked heatedly. "We just want to know what's going on with you, if we can help! I am your best mate after all. Or at least I thought I was."

"Well you can't help," James barked, glaring at the three of them.

He yanked himself free of Molly's grip and charged off, Fred's angry shout of, "Fine, be that way!" chasing him up the boys' stairs.

The door to the second years' dorm on the landing beneath his was open. A dark-haired boy was digging around in a trunk, and for a second James's heart leapt into his mouth as he skidded to a halt. But then the boy turned around, and his popping, owlish, brown eyes met James's. James slammed the dormitory door shut with all his might.


	4. Chapter 4

**P/N: So here it is. Part four. I love this-my friend's stories continue to get better and better. Thanks again SO MUCH for all of your reviews-I can't explain how much they mean to us! A shout-out to Rodrigo DeMolay for being strong enough to read this fanfiction after a terrible personal loss of a friend to Leukemia. Everybody, please continue to review, and don't hesitate to critique! Thanks again! :D  
**

**Reeling in the Wake: Part Four**

The call came near midnight. The buzz of Hermione's small, red cell phone vibrating on the counter hummed loudly in the silent kitchen, throbbing like a bass drum at the base of their spines and making them both jump. Hermione abandoned the thick folder of proposed laws she had only been pretending to peruse for the past hour and lunged for the rattling device. Ron's chair bounced off the wall as he leapt up to put his head close to hers to hear, too.

"Hello?" Hermione answered breathlessly.

"Hey," Harry's hushed voice barely pushed its way past the speaker Hermione was crushing against her ear. "Did I wake you up?"

"Hardly. We've been waiting to hear from you for ages. What's been going on?"

The rush of a heavy sigh came through the speaker. "Things have just been…."

He trailed off. Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. It was Friday, five days since Albus had become a patient at the Cancer Center in London. It was only about four miles from Ron and Hermione's house, but it might as well have been on the other side of the world. Harry had come to tuck Lily in the first night, and Ginny had come for a few minutes Wednesday evening, but since then they had heard nothing from the hospital.

"What's going on?" Ron mouthed, prodding Hermione to speak.

In the only phone booth the New London Cancer Center had left intact since the wide-spread mobile-phone revolution a decade before, Harry stirred, thinking of his son upstairs, sleeping off a cocktail of drugs to the lullaby of a monitor bleated his heartbeat in soft, high notes.

"Well, they started with a CT scan," he told them. "That was Tuesday morning. It's like a whole load of x-rays put together so they can get an image of organs and joints and stuff, see if the cancer's spread. You should have seen it…."

_Albus held his breath as the machine began to buzz and click around him. _He lay on his back this time, on a cold metal table attached to the mouth of a tunnel-like machine.

"We're going to take a few preliminary scans, now, Al," the radiologist's voice said scratchily over the speaker on the ceiling.

Albus was completely alone except for that voice. There was a window on the other side of the machine where he knew his parents and the doctors were watching, but he couldn't see them, and all he could hear were the radiologist's instructions. He swallowed and tried to say "Okay," but it came out as a whisper.

The table jerked into motion with a loud hum. Lights flared inside the tunnel and Albus lay perfectly still, rigid, as he began to slide backward into the machine. It was like a scene out of one of Hugo's alien films, he thought. A whirring filled his ears as something began to spin rapidly around his midsection. There were a lot of creaks and mechanical noises, and Albus closed his eyes, hoping the whole thing wasn't about to explode or collapse on top of him.

His eyes snapped open as the table gave a shudder. Was the light supposed to flicker like that, or was it his imagination? The noises seemed louder in his ears, the tunnel narrower. Albus had never felt claustrophobic before, but inside that glowing, metal trap his blood began to rush in his ears, and he could barely keep himself from clawing his way out of that tunnel.

"Albus? Is everything alright? You're breathing a little bit fast," the radiologist said from behind his window.

Albus listened to his breath, loud in his ears. "I'm…" he tried to say he was fine, because a part of him knew he was being stupid, knew the doctors knew what they were doing and needed this scan done. "No. C-c-can I come out? Please?" He winced at the panic cracking in his voice.

"Yes, of course."

A second later, Albus was sliding out into the bare, gray room that housed the scanner. He gasped, sitting up and taking deep breaths. The door opened and his audience flooded in, his parents in the lead. One look at their worried faces and his insides squirmed in embarrassment.

"I'm fine," he tried to tell them all, twisting the seam of his gown.

Dr. Norton was firing a barrage of questions at him, inquiring if he was in pain, felt any odd sensations, was short of breath, etc. There wasn't even time in between to give a proper answer.

Albus looked up, and his eyes caught his father's. And just like that Harry knew what was wrong. Albus had given him that look often enough, although the last time had been on a train platform more than a year ago. Back when the matter of school houses had seemed like the biggest thing in the world.

"A bit claustrophobic?" Harry asked, cutting across Dr. Norton's assault of rapid-fire questions.

Albus nodded, feeling himself blush, and swallowed with difficulty. The radiologist gave him a sympathetic look.

"You're not the first," he assured him. "Don't worry. It's quick and easy, and you'll be out in no time. Do you think you can try again?"

Albus nodded, but the wide-eyed look he had seemed to say otherwise.

Harry stayed with him as they laid him down again, this time preparing to hook up an IV. A contrast medium would flow into his blood stream, making the images clearer and easier to study. It was like highlighting the important parts, Dr. Norton had explained.

Albus barely flinched this time when the needle pierced his skin. After the bone marrow aspiration yesterday, it felt like little more than a mosquito bite. He stared at the bag of dye dripping down its long, clear tube into his elbow as the radiologist repeated his instructions to stay still and breathe normally.

"Alright?" Harry asked, squeezing Albus' shoulder.

Albus rolled his head to look at his father. His eyes were still round as galleons. Harry knelt down so that they were on a level.

"Dad, I can't go back in there," Albus said in a low, almost panicked voice.

"I know all this electronic stuff is a little… jarring coming straight from Hogwarts, but loads of people have this done every day. It'll be fine," Harry promised.

"Do you know what it's _like _in there?" Albus asked, voice rising an octave at the end. "I can't do it, okay?"

"Al, they need to do this so they know how to help you –"

"If they put me back in there, I'll go mad. I'll start ripping the metal apart with my bare hands. Then they'll have to subdue me with those dart-gun things Hugo wants for Christmas and lock me in a padded cell, and you'll only be able to visit me every other Sunday, and I'll have to eat those nasty protein drinks Dudley likes for some _unfathomable _reason through a straw for the rest of my life because my hands'll be cuffed to the bed…"

He paused to take a great shuddering breath, already feeling like the world was closing in around him again, and Harry took the opportunity to interrupt.

"Hey, easy. No one's going to lock you up in a padded cell. Look, I know you're scared. And you know what? I would be too, if they were putting me in that thing." Albus gave him a disbelieving look. His father had skewered a Basilisk and taken on a mother dragon, not to mention the whole Darkest-Wizard-in-a-century thing. He highly doubted a metal tube would faze him. "But you're a Gryffindor, remember?"

"Yeah right," Albus mumbled. "James's right, I'm a bloody coward."

"Hey," Harry said sternly, and the uncharacteristic snap in his voice got Albus' attention. "Being scared doesn't make you a coward. Refusing to face your fears does. Now, you're going to get through this scan so the doctors can start getting you healthy again because you are not a coward. Okay?"

Albus didn't think it really counted if you faced your fears strapped down and screaming, but it seemed like a waste of time to try explaining that to his father. "Okay," he agreed at last, licking his lips. When there's no other way out, you might as well go forward.

"Good man," Harry said, nodding approvingly and ruffling his hair.

Then he stood up and slipped out of the room to join the rest behind the window.

"Ready, Al?" The radiologist asked over the speaker.

_No. _

"Yeah."

_Albus held his breath as the machine began to buzz and click around him._

"Merlin, I'd be a little more than jumpy too if they were going to shoot me full of x-rays," Ron said with a low whistle when Harry tapered into silence. "Isn't that what made that superhero Hugo's always going on about mutate into a giant green monster?"

"Those are gamma rays, dear," Hermione corrected. "And they don't actually do that, you know. It's just an old science fiction story."

"Still, wouldn't want to risk it. Anyway," he went on, serious once more. "How's the kid holding up? Did they tell you if they found anything after all that?"

A short, hollow laugh came through the receiver. "That was only the start of it," Harry told them.

He had started talking, and now he couldn't stop. Maybe because it was Ron and Hermione and he had always told them everything, or maybe it was simply because it was the first time in a week he'd had a chance to speak to anybody outside of this entirely separate world of hospitals and cancer he'd been plunged into, but everything came spilling out. From the nearly-inedible food to the constant taste of bad news close at hand, to everything he had had to watch his son be put through while he stood around helplessly and watched.

_Harry sagged in the plastic chair he'd managed to doze off in for all of five minutes that night._ Hospitals never slept. It was never entirely dark; the lights in the corridor dimmed but never went off, monitors flashed, and above the beds there was always a strip glowing so nurses could check up on patients without disturbing them. People were always coming up and down the hallway, murmuring in low voices about everything that was going wrong. It seemed like everything went wrong at night.

Albus was whimpering again. Ginny sat on the edge of his mattress, messaging his forehead with the palm of her hand, but still he tossed and moaned in an exhausted stupor. It was from the spinal tap they'd done earlier in the afternoon. Twelve hours ago, Harry thought, glancing at the luminescent clock beside the bed. It was almost two in the morning. That meant at least another twelve hours before the headache pulsing through Albus' skull as a result of the needle they'd shoved between his vertebrae to remove a sample of spinal fluid would dissipate.

Harry muffled a groan, rubbing out the crick in his neck, feeling that he had no right to voice his own discomfort.

"He's still running a fever," Ginny murmured anxiously, running the back of her hand along Al's cheek.

"Not a high one?" Harry asked, straightening up in alarm. Ginny shook her head and a bit of the tension went out of his shoulders. "Dr. Norton says he's probably had that for two weeks."

"How come nobody noticed?" Ginny asked. "If he's been ill for weeks, how is it that none of his teachers spotted it? Why didn't James or Rose or Dominique or _somebody _cotton on and bring him to Madam Pomfrey ages ago? If we'd caught it sooner –"

But of course what she was really wondering was why _she _hadn't picked up on it. She ought to have realized there was a droop to his handwriting lately, or that the letters were just a bit shorter than usual, that he'd mentioned being tired or how rough Quidditch practices had become. There must have been something that spoke a warning. She was his mother. Why hadn't she _felt _there was something wrong?

"Don't do that," Harry said, leaning forward to rub her shoulders. "We don't know if it would have mattered at all. And you saw him last weekend. You couldn't have guessed by looking at him that he was this ill."

Ginny sucked in her lower lip, but said nothing. Harry moved over to the bed beside her, slipping an arm around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. For a while they watched Albus stir restlessly. Harry's mind wondered back to that afternoon, to that brief moment of OK they had managed to steal.

Because Albus had had to lie almost perfectly still for hours after the spinal tap, Harry had retrieved a pack of muggle cards from the gift shop and amused his son by trying to teach him and Ginny how to play crazy eights. Albus had laughed and grinned and had a ball giving Ginny instructions on which cards to lay in code as she sat on the floor beside the bed so that he could see the hand, so as not to tip Harry off about what they had up their sleeves. And for a second everything seemed fine. But then that second popped like a soap bubble and Harry realized that was how they would be living for a while: hopping from soap bubble to soap bubble and trying not to drown in between.

"That's it," Harry declared finally, jumping up as Albus rolled away from them, his breath coming out in a pained hiss. "This is ridiculous. There's got to be something they can do."

"Pain medicine won't work, they told us that," Ginny reminded him, not taking her eyes off Albus' hunched form.

"I don't care," Harry snapped, already storming out into the corridor.

The nurses' station at the end of the hall was dark and abandoned. So were the next two Harry found. By the time he happened upon the small coffee clutch of exhausted, night staff interns gathered around the front desk, waited for Julie, the new receptionist to look up Al's chart ("Can you spell the first name one more time, please?") and listened to her repeat the same explanation they'd gotten earlier, he was beginning to lose it.

Harry closed his eyes, trying to find the patience he had cultivated in raising four small children. "Look," he said, leaning forward and planting his palms on the desk. "My son is in pain. We are in a hospital. Don't stand there and tell me there's absolutely nothing you can do about it."

The interns all looked at one another skittishly. Julie went back to scanning the chart, winding a strand of hair around her finger.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said with sincere apology. "It's just that in situations like this, the procedure is to –"

"Do you think I give a damn about the procedure?" Harry demanded and Julie flinched. A few hours earlier he might have taken this as a cue to dial back, but it was past two in the morning, he had not slept in days, and the very terrifying reality of his child lying in a hospital bed had left him frayed. "Why don't you go sit in there and listen to him whimper for twelve hours and then tell me what the procedure is!"

Julie took a step back, mouth gaping.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked around. A nurse had appeared around the corner, probably to see what the commotion was. He thought that he might recognize her, but all the scrub-clad medical professionals were blurring together.

"You're son's a Leukemia patient, isn't he? I prepped him for the spinal tap. I'll come with you. We can give him something to sleep through the pain, at least."

She took Harry's elbow and guided him back in the direction of Al's room, giving quiet instructions over her shoulder for the interns to get back to work.

"He's just been diagnosed, hasn't he?" she asked gently as they walked side by side. Harry nodded numbly. "How are you holding up?"

He looked at her. "How would you be?"

Nothing more passed between them on their journey through the dim hallways.

"Dad?" Albus groaned blearily when Harry pushed open the door. "Where'd you go?"

"To get me," the nurse said in a quiet, amiable voice, moving over to check the monitors. "Hi, Al. I'm Sadie, remember me?"

To Harry's surprise, Albus mumbled affirmation. "You gave me a Spiderman bandage."

"If you have to have a bandage, might as well have a cool one," Sadie smiled.

Albus didn't so much as flinch as she took his arm, began probing at his bruised elbow with her gloved hands. In a minute she had pushed an IV into place and fastened it with surgical tape, hung a bag of some clear liquid beside the bed. Albus had yelped the first time he'd been stuck with a needle, bit down on his lip and cringed his way through every blood drawing. Now he lay limply, completely unfazed. Harry didn't know if it was better or not.

"Might as well start him on an IV now," Sadie said to Harry and Ginny as Albus' eyes drooped closed. "He'll need it for the anesthesia in a few hours anyway."

"The what?" Ginny asked sharply.

"For the surgery," Sadie answered, glancing down at the chart attached to Al's bed. "Dr. Norton scheduled it for this morning. To insert a catheter for chemo treatments… he _has _discussed this with you?" she added, a bit uncertainly.

Ginny looked blank. Harry rubbed his forehead. "I think he has, but we've been a bit… preoccupied today. What exactly is it they're doing?"

Nurses were better at explaining things than doctors, Harry thought as Sadie pulled up a rolling chair and began to walk them through the procedure planned for the next morning. Ginny looked faintly green by the time she'd finished, and Sadie said hastily, "I know it sounds painful, but it will save Al a lot of needles when it comes to treatments. And more importantly, it could very well save his life. In emergency situations, we'll be able to get what we need immediately and he'll be able to get what he needs."

As one, they all looked over at the bed beside them where Albus had not stirred or made a sound since he'd gotten the IV.

Sadie left them with the instructions to get some rest too, but four hours later, when Dr. Norton, the surgeon, the anesthesiologist, and half a dozen other medical people swarmed into the room to wheel Albus into surgery, neither of them had slept a wink.

They lifted Albus from his bed onto a gurney without waking him, tucked a clean, heated blanket around his scrawny chest, and hooked up a new bag to the tube going into his arm. Ginny pressed a kiss to the back of Al's hand as they started pulling the gurney toward the door. When his fingers slid out of hers, she pressed her hand over her mouth and stared down at her knees, trembling slightly.

Harry stood, somewhat unsteadily, and moved to the door to watch his son – surrounded by a mob of masked strangers – disappear behind the metal doors of the elevator at the end of the hall.

He turned away from the door. All there was left to do now was wait. To wait around for someone else to fix this. He'd never been good at that.

_Harry sagged in the plastic chair he'd managed to doze off in for all of five minutes that night._

There was silence at the other end of the line.

"Are you still there?" Harry asked uncertainly. He'd been talking so long, he would have never noticed the call dropping.

"Yes, we're here," Hermione's voice answered quickly, and he felt a surge of relief to find that he had not been talking into nothingness. "It's just…" she took a deep breath. "Wow."

"Yeah. I know." Harry breathed out slow and long. "How's Lily doing?"

In the kitchen, Ron and Hermione exchanged another look.

_Lily spun faster and faster_. The ribbons of her pink ballet slippers – the very special color-changing ribbons that her godmother Luna had made just for her all the way in _Mongolia_ – whipped the polished wood floor of the dance studio. The long, marching wall of mirrors, the other girls lined up at the bar, the mothers watching from the bench – they all blurred together in a stream of colors. All Lily saw as she whipped round and round was the spotting point. The spot was painted bright yellow so they wouldn't lose it as they turned, and as long as she held that blot of color, she would hold control no matter how fast she spun.

"Lily," Miss Angela said far away in the whirling world. "We've finished with floor exercises. Time to cool off at the bar."

The periwinkle taffeta of her costume fluttered like gossamer wings. With each turn she l-e-a-p-t, legs straight, toes pointed, perfect form. And in the split second before she landed, bending like a willow to spring into the next twirling leap, it felt like she could fly. F-l-y away. But then, of course, she'd have to come back down to carry away everybody that she loved. Easiest just to let the earth fly through space with all of them on it. And then she'd land anyway and the point was moot. M-o-o-t.

"Lily," Esther the blond girl with sparkly slippers and sisters who came to pick her up from class said. "It's time for suckers. Don't you want one?"

Her hair had come out of its bun. It whipped in her face and filled her vision with dancing red tendrils. But she kept her spot. It was 'cause Mummy wasn't here to do it properly and twist the elastic just right. Hermione tried her best, but Rose liked books, not dancing. Ron tried his best, but he didn't know the rhyme about bedbugs. And Hugo tried his best, but he was her friend, not her brother, and couldn't be mean to her.

"Lily," Hermione said. "Sweetie, it's time to go."

It was like holding a bubble. If she kept her arms aloft in that perfect gentle curve, if she didn't hold on too hard or too loose, kept a perfect balance, it was like floating. And floating was better than flying because you didn't go so far away.

"That's all she's done all lesson. I haven't been able to get her attention."

"Did something happen?"

"Not that I saw. Where's her mother, today?"

"At the hospital with her brother."

"Oh no! what… _sh-sh-sh_."

"Well, they're still doing tests, but… _sh-sh-sh_."

Push off, turn, land. Push _off, _turn-_land_. _Swish-thud. Swish-thud. _

_Lily spun faster and faster_.

Harry let his head fall back against the glass cubicle with a thud, feeling like an awful father because he couldn't be in two places at once. "You'll tell her we're sorry, yeah? We'll be home soon. We've tried to get away to come see her, it's just something's always happening…."

_Ginny gripped the rail until her knuckles turned white_. The noise of the hospital cafeteria washed around her like a current, buffeting her where she stood. She couldn't do it. If she let go, she would slip under that current. She couldn't do it. She couldn't –

Tubes sprouted from Albus' bear chest. There was a bulge beside his heart now. She had been able to see it through the hospital gown when they'd wheeled him back into his room. Albus had asked if it would hurt this time when they put the needle in. Sadie had dropped a dollop of EMLA cream into his hands and shown him how to roll it like putty and warm it up. She promised it would stop him from feeling a thing.

Ginny had sat next to him on the narrow mattress, arm around his shoulders, waiting the hour it took the EMLA to numb him completely. She had played the old game she and Harry and Ron had done back before any of them were married and Hermione's parents' TV was still a novelty: hitting mute and doing the voices themselves. She would be here next to him for his first chemo session. She was his mother. If he had to sit through it, so did she.

But then they'd come with their tubes and needles. They'd bared his thin torso and covered him with wires and stickers and she could see that bulge where they'd jammed a tube right under his flesh and she'd bolted. Now she was two floors beneath where her son was having poison pumped almost directly into his heart.

She couldn't stay here.

Ginny took a steadying breath and let go of the railing. She turned and tried not to run through the maze of halls, feeling like a canary in a coal mine, not stopping until she saw the light.

Out on the road, she felt like she could breathe again. There were cars rumbling past, people shuffling along in their perfectly normal lives, nobody to look at her and wonder why she wasn't with whomever she'd come to the hospital for. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the weak November sun, melting into its distant heat.

A shadow moved in front of her. Out of long-learned instinct, Ginny had her wand at the person's chest in an instant, before she could even think about what she was doing. A weedy, dark-haired man stood before her, hands raised in surrender and both his violet eyes on the wand point dug into his ribs.

"Oh God, I'm –" Ginny stammered, quickly drawing her weapon back, trying to pass it off as an ordinary twig she'd picked up off the ground. In the middle of a car park surrounded by miles of pavement.

"Careful, there, Mrs. Potter," the man said with a smirk. "Wouldn't want to breach any codes of secrecy, now would you?"

"You're a wizard?" Ginny gasped, glancing around to make sure no one else had seen.

"Certainly," the man grinned. "Don't you recognize me?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes, slipping her wand carefully back into her jeans. Now that she was looking at him properly, she was stunned she hadn't smelt the oil he used to slick back his hair and had a heads-up.

"Mr. Menoy," she said coolly, stepping back.

"Mrs. Potter," Menoy crooned in a voice as oily as his hair. "You know, as colleagues, we never seem to find chances to chat."

He tried to slip an arm around her shoulders, but she caught his wrist and twisted his arm back to his side. He grinned through the grimace, rubbing his wrist.

"If you don't mind, _Clyde_, I'm needed elsewhere."

She turned and made to stride back into the Cancer Center, but Clyde Menoy slunk along next to her, tutting sadly.

"I _did _hear about your little boy, Ginevra. Terribly sad. My condolences. I do hope he'll be alright."

Ginny juddered to a halt, spinning to face him. "What exactly did you hear?" she demanded tightly. As far as she knew, Madam Pomfrey, Healer Heart, and Neville were the only people outside of her family who knew anything about their situation. Two of them she trusted with her life and the third she had trusted with something even more important – her son's life.

"Sis works in the records department at St. Mungo's, you know. She comes to me with the most heart-wrenching stories, sometimes. And knowing you and I work together, she was wondering how you were all coping."

"Don't pretend I can't see past that ferret face of yours, Menoy," Ginny snapped, feeling her blood pressure rising. "I work at _The Prophet_. I've had a front row seat to your campaign for the front page. There are confidentiality rules. You can't make my son's cancer your ticket to a byline without getting you and your sister fired for breach of privacy."

"Ah, how right you are," Menoy nodded, whipping out a quill and notepad. "But a press release from his mother is perfectly printable."

"I didn't give you –"

"'My son's cancer'," Menoy muttered as he scribbled. "Mm-hm, that ought to do nicely for a quote line."

"You bastard," Ginny breathed, fury beginning to ring in her ears.

She whipped out her wand again and in a second the notepad and quill were flaming. Menoy yelped and dropped them, stamping them out against the pavement.

"Nice try," he grinned, nudging the ashes with his toe. "But I think that's a quote I can remember verbatim."

"You have no right," Ginny began in a low, dangerous voice.

"But see, I do," Menoy cut in with his slick smile. But then he grew solemn, almost genuinely sympathetic. "I hate to do it to somebody I know, but you're a public figure, Ginny. Like it or not, your lives belong to the public. I'll do a good job. I won't exaggerate things. I'll tell it like it is. It can't hurt to have the entire Wizarding world behind Albus Potter's fight against cancer, can it?"

"You –"

But he was already gone, disapparated with a crack before she could get even a sentence out. Ginny stood rooted to the spot for several seconds, anger washing over her, building with each tide. Then she whirled on her heel and made for the fifth floor.

She spent the elevator ride contemplating what she would like to do to Clyde Menoy's office at _The_ _Prophet_, and by the time the little ding signaled the doors opening, had come up with several satisfyingly violent scenarios. He might be able to run, but he couldn't hide forever.

She strode out into the waiting room and past the receptionist, barely even noticing the wary look Julie gave her. But several paces from Al's room she stopped short.

She could see him through the half-open door. He was leaning forward, a sheen of sweat glazing his pale face, choking and retching into the basin Harry held under his chin. Sadie the nurse was there again, ready with an empty basin that Harry switched out quickly, murmuring something as he rubbed circles into Albus' back. The poison-filled tube still snaked its way under Al's gown.

She turned away, began making her way quickly back the way she'd come. They didn't need to know about the reporter right now. Hopefully they never would. She bypassed the elevator and made for the stairs, which, she'd learned, were usually deserted. In the solitude of the stairwell, she closed her eyes. There was a different battle she could fight right now. _Ginny gripped the rail until her knuckles turned white._

"I guess she raised some hell at the _Prophet _office," Harry told them, a faint chuckle coming into his voice. "I don't think they'll be printing so much as the name 'Potter' in anything for quite some time."

"Well, at least _they _won't be," Ron muttered.

"What d'you mean?"

"You, er, haven't been reading much, have you?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"Not exactly. Why, what's happened?" Harry asked with a familiar sense of trepidation.

"Well, Rose wrote to us today…." Hermione began.

_James stared vacantly across the lake._ He had not had lunch in the Great Hall all week. In fact, he'd avoided any situation where he might be cornered and forced to interact with people he knew. Admittedly, this was not a tall order since he'd stopped going to half his classes, and very few people were still speaking to him anyway.

Dominique, who had thus far been unfazed by the snarled insults, snide comments, and swift jinxes that had one by one alienated the rest of his friends and cousins, had finally lost her temper with him this morning.

"Potter!" she'd barked, snatching the back of his robes as he slunk out of the boys' staircase just after dawn, before the rest of his dorm was awake.

"Can I help you?" he'd growled back, yanking himself free and scowling at her.

"Yes, as a matter of fact you can," she'd told him, but not anything close to sweetly. "You could maybe show up for practice once or twice in the week before our FIRST MATCH! That's FIVE practices you've missed. Where the hell have you been, James?"

"None of your business," he'd sneered, his typical response to that question lately. Then he'd made to storm away, but Dominique had seized his collar again.

"What, I don't even dignify a famous James Potter excuse anymore?" she'd asked. "We play at eleven o'clock tomorrow. If you're not on the pitch at five-thirty tonight, don't bother showing up for the match."

"Then I hope you get your sorry arses thrashed tomorrow," James had spat back.

That was when Dominique had flung him away from her with enough force to make him stumble. "I don't know what your problem is, James, but it's not on my team anymore."

And she'd stalked away.

"My brother might have cancer!" James had wanted to scream after her, but he hadn't. Just like he hadn't told Molly that he wasn't going to class because he didn't hear the teachers anyway. And he hadn't told Louis that he was picking fights because the longer he went without a letter from home, the angrier he got at everybody. And he hadn't told Fred he couldn't look at him anymore because all he saw was the sinisterly black bruise that had started this whole spiral.

So he sat alone on the cold, barren grounds letting the misty drizzle soak through his clothes, and waited for an owl that seemed less and less likely to come.

"Would you quit moping, Dom?" Louis sighed, looking up to find his sister frowning at her cauliflower. He shoved a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and went on, "I's no' like you 'id anyfing wrong."

Molly, who sat beside Dominique, pulled her head out of her advanced transfiguration book to give Louis a disgusted look, which he ignored.

Dominique snorted. "The little twerp might have had it coming, but I still feel bad. Obviously something's going on."

She and Molly exchanged a meaningful look.

"Talking about James?" Fred had joined them, swinging himself onto the bench beside Louis and looking dejected. The other three nodded.

"I'm beginning to be seriously concerned about him," Molly said, wiping her glasses on her sleeve.

"I think we all are," Dominique intoned. "And not just about him, either." She glanced significantly down the table to where Rose sat alone, staring into her soup.

"I think Neville knows," said Fred abruptly, gazing up at the staff table.

"What d'you think happened?" Louis wondered for the hundredth time.

They spent a few minutes going over the same theories – that Albus had taken the fall for James and been suspended, that Harry's cousin Dudley had been in a fatal car wreck and James had refused to go home for the funeral, that Albus had witnessed something over the summer when he'd gone into work with Harry and was now being kept to give evidence at the Ministry. But they had gone over the ideas so many times that the circular conversation quickly fell into silence. After a time, Louis brought up Quidditch stats, Molly took it as her cue to return to her book, and they all did their best to ignore the obvious absences at the long, Gryffindor table.

Lunch was nearly over when Lucy appeared, Roxanne at her side. Fred gave his little sister a strange look. It was not often that Roxanne was seen trailing anybody, much less Lucy. Despite being in the same year, the two of them had never clicked quite like he and James had.

"Um, Molly?" Lucy murmured, approaching her sister with an anxious expression.

"What's up, Lu?" Molly asked distractedly, hardly looking up from her book.

"I think you ought to read something," she said nervously, tugging on one of her short red braids.

"Luce, you know that's a counterproductive remark," said Fred sternly. "We've only just gotten her _out_ of the library, and remember how long and painful that procedure was?"

"Shut up," Roxanne told him, which was another rarity. The two of them got along better than nearly any siblings in the school. Fred clapped a hand to her forehead, checking for fever, but Roxanne swatted it away, a serious look on her face. "I mean it, Fred. Not the time."

Molly slowly put her book down, now giving the girls her full attention. Lucy handed her the magazine she'd been twisting in her hands.

"Witch Weekly?" Molly asked with a raised eyebrow. "You know what a gossip rag this is, Lu. Honestly, why waste your time?"

Silently, Lucy pointed to something on the front cover. Molly's eyes widened. She rifled quickly through the pages until she found the article and began to read so fast her eyes blurred. By the time she'd finished, she'd gone very white under her freckles. Every eye was on her when she looked up. Even Rose had slid down the table to see what was happening.

"Now, L-Lucy, this is a tabloid. They run crazy stories in it all the time. Probably what's happened is this Menoy's kid or nephew or something goes to Hogwarts and happened to write home that Al hasn't been in classes lately, and he came out with this to make a little money."

"What's it say?" Rose demanded.

"Well –" Molly coughed, looking deeply unsettled.

Fred grabbed the magazine from her. "'Potter's New Battlefront,'" he read. "'In a recent, gut-wrenching discovery, it seems that the legacy of fighting for life has now passed on to the next generation. Albus Potter (age 9) is being treated for a chronic illness, and what is more, this is happening not at St. Mungo's, but at a _Muggle hospital_. Many may raise eyebrows at Harry Potter's choices when it comes to the well-being of his children, and some even wonder if he wants his son to recover at all…' Okay, who writes this shite?" Fred broke off in a disgusted tone.

"Obviously it's a load of dragon dung," Louis put in, pointing his fork at the magazine Fred had flung away from himself. "They didn't even get his age right. Molly's right. Just tabloid rubbish."

There was a beat in which the seven of them looked at each other. Then, almost as one, they leapt up from the benches and joined the swarm heading out of the Great Hall.

"The nosebleed –" Dominique said faintly as they pushed their way out the oak front doors, Fred several paces ahead, leading the way to where he knew James went to hide. " – there really was something wrong with him –"

"It was just a nosebleed," Molly tried to reason. "People don't get chronically ill from nosebleeds."

"People don't just disappear for no good reason, either," Rose said shortly. And now she was remembering the pained grimace she'd caught on Albus' face several time in the couple weeks before he'd vanished, the drawn look she'd attributed to juggling homework and Quidditch practice, and oh God what if Witch Weekly was right?

James was surrounded before he even knew what was happening. Very suddenly a magazine was being thrust in his face, and when he'd clawed it away it was to find his cousins ringed around his rock. Fred stood over him, Dominique and Rose on either side with the same hard, determined gaze.

"Is it true?" Fred asked simply, pointing to the magazine.

"Is what true?" James snarled, pushing himself to his feet.

"Cut the attitude, James," Rose snapped. "You've been a git all week. Al's been gone all week. And now this. We want some answers. What is going on?"

Shooting them all venomous looks, James stooped and snatched up the magazine. And right there, in permanent black and white, was the news he'd been dreading all week. Suddenly the cold air seemed to freeze in his lungs.

"Is it true?" Fred asked again, but this time his voice came out hushed.

His father had promised to write. He'd promised to let James know what was happening.

"James?" Dominique prompted cautiously.

With an angry shout, James hurled the magazine over their heads into the lake's frigid gray waters. "Fine, you want the truth? Mum and Dad took Al home because he's sick! He's got cancer, and he could die while we're sitting here taking notes and playing Quidditch! My _problem _is that my little brother might not see his thirteenth birthday. Are you happy to be in the loop? Does it make you feel better now that you know?"

James choked. His vision blurred. Dominique steeped forward, making to put her arm around his shoulders, but he pushed her away. And he did what he did best: he ran, leaving the rest to stare at each other with stricken faces.

James kept going, pushing against the ground, gasping for breath, wet cheeks stinging in the cold. It was a long time before he stumbled, fell forward onto his hands. It was cold, and dark clouds churned overhead, letting the occasional snowflake flutter loose.

On the opposite bank he could see the seven figures he knew were his cousins still grouped around the rock he had come to think of as his. Eventually, as the flurries thickened, they made their way back up to the castle in a straggling line. Molly appeared at James's side, pulling on his cloak, telling him he had to come in or he'd freeze. But now they knew, and they'd probably want to know more. They'd want him to explain, and he couldn't do that.

_James stared vacantly across the lake._

"Perfect, that's… that's _great _news," Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I was going to write to James tomorrow when we got home… I suppose everyone else will have seen that article as well?"

"Mum was over here this afternoon," Ron admitted, wincing at the memory. "She's pretty torn up. We didn't really know what to tell her. I reckon Fleur'll have seen it, too."

Harry swore under his breath.

"That reporter ought to be taken in for slander," Hermione bit out angrily, already pulling out a legal pad and quill to scribble on. "He probably had to fabricate a good deal of that article to get _Witch Weekly _interested. I'll see if I can pull an investigation, maybe get a retraction printed at the very least."

Harry murmured his thanks, and there was a pause during which Hermione rapidly filled two pages in her legal pad.

"How'd Rose take it?" Harry asked at last.

"Pretty hard, I think," Hermione said heavily.

"And James… that's not something he needs right now. This is just… how did we get here in less than a week?"

Neither of them had an answer.

"I should go back upstairs," Harry said after a moment. "I don't suppose Lily's still awake? I didn't realize it was so late. I wanted to talk to her."

"We could wake her up," Ron suggested, but Harry said not to. "Better let her sleep. We'll be home in the morning," he told them.

"Well, give Al our love," said Hermione.

"Hang in there, mate," Ron added.

"Thanks. For everything. I'll see you… sometime soon."

There was a click, and the line went dead.


	5. Chapter 5

**P/N: Here is the wonderful part 5. College has claimed my friend as its own for now. Hopefully, however, this is well-worth the wait, and hopefully not too many typos. I know that this story keeps getting more and more enjoyable for me. Reviews are always appreciated! I would love to hear what people think about Lily's POV in particular. And also, would there be interest in reading a little side story that alludes to future events? Leave comments! I forward them to the author so they are always read and enjoyed.**

Lily woke slowly. She was aware that she was moving, that the blankets were hugging her tight like a cocoon, that the violently orange walls of Rose's room (which she always borrowed now that Rose was in school) had changed to tope and now to blue. But it was the warm that really woke her, made her understand that she had been lifted from her bed and was being carried down the stairs. It was the warm, the tide of assured breaths, the steady thrust of a heartbeat against her cheek. But mostly it was the warm that came from someone else holding her up.

For a moment, Lily thought it must be her father because he was usually the one to carry her when she couldn't walk. But he was away carrying Al, so it must be Ron. But she wasn't close enough to the ceiling for it to be Ron… they didn't have to duck under the hall chandelier. And anyway, she thought as they negotiated the steps and she was jostled enough to make her teeth click, Ron was better at carrying people.

"You need practice," she complained in a mumble, hiding from the glowing light of the kitchen in the flannel shirt of her captor.

"Hey, pumpkin. Didn't think you were awake."

Lily caught a flash of turquoise and sparkling tawny eyes. " 'm not, really."

She could hear the laughter in Teddy's breath, even if he was quiet.

"Where we goin'?"

"Home."

"How come?"

"Aw, come on. You know."

"'m tired, Teddy."

"Al's coming home today, squirt, remember?"

And suddenly Lily was awake. She lay just as limply in Teddy's arms, let her eyes flutter as if she still slept, but energy seeped through her, made her skin hum. Al was coming home today.

XxXxX

"Oy, Malfoy! Had a row with your girlfriend, did ya?"

A pillow smacked into Scorpius's face.

"She's not my girlfriend," he muttered sleepily, shoving the pillow away.

"Well she's definitely your problem. She's camped outside the common room! How're we supposed to keep our password secret, huh? You want her and _Potter _creeping in here with half of Gryffindor? Not to mention how many people'll go blind if _that's _the first thing they gotta see in the morning."

"Stuff it, Montague," Scorpius snapped, already scrambling out of bed.

The other boy shot Scorpius a sneer. "Just get her off _our _doorstep."

Scorpius was out of the dormitory in three seconds flat, barely stopping to grab his wand. The dungeons were always freezing this time of year and the icy stone bit into his bare feet, but it was worth it to get away from Montague quicker. What on earth was Rose doing down here this early? Causing him problems, he thought. That was usually what she was doing, stubborn and uppity and –

"What's wrong?"

The moment the stone wall opened, it was the most obvious question in the world. Because she wasn't pacing or fuming or red-faced or ranting or even looking impatient. She was huddled against the opposite wall, and when she raised her face from her knees, her eyes were red, her skin pale and blotchy, and when she looked at him, her lip trembled. A page torn from a magazine was clutched in her hand.

XxXxX

Dominique waited on the edge of the Quidditch pitch. She didn't know what else to do but wait. The Slytherin team was shooting warm-ups as the rest of the student body crammed itself into the stands. Fry and Bell waited silently in the locker room, brooms over their shoulders. They didn't ask questions, but their silent conversation drilled into Dominique's skull. They'd no doubt heard she'd kicked James off the team yesterday, and Al's absence had buzzed around the school all week, but Rose was never even late for practice and Fred looked forward to games like Christmas.

She didn't know what she was doing down here. She'd come because when she forced her thoughts away from that article, from that practice exactly a week ago, from James by the lake yesterday, all there was was getting ready for the match. But there would be no match, Dominique knew. How could there be a match when Albus was in some Muggle hospital somewhere?

But the rest of the school was expecting a match, so what else could she do but wait?

XxXxX

"James?"

He should have picked a better hiding spot, James thought, pulling his sheets over his head. The rasp of his four-poster's curtains dragged against his ears. He felt Fred sit down on the foot of his bed. Then there was silence. James could practically feel Fred wrestling with the air for words, but there was nothing left to say. He'd figured that out last night. Molly had half-dragged him back to the castle, nattering on about advancements in healing and half a dozen other things that didn't even make a dent in the looming darkness. There was just nothing left to say.

Eventually Fred seemed to realize this, too. Or maybe he just gave up. James felt his weight vanish from the end of the bed. Beneath the rasp of the curtains blocking out the day again, he thought he might have heard, "I'm sorry."

James rolled over to stare at the chink of sunlight that still boldly pushed its way into the gloom. Well, maybe there had been just that one last thing.

XxXxX

Ginny leaned against the bed rail as a nurse carefully pulled the last of the tubes from her son's arms and chest. He lay very still, eyes open, gazing at nothing over her head. Over the past week, there had been an IV poking into his elbow, getting in the way when he tried to grab something with his left hand, knocking over his orange juice as he tried to eat what passed for food in this place. There had been stickers on his chest, irritating him as he tried to get comfortable, feeding his heartbeat and breathing back to monitors that beeped a constant rhythm. He had more than once threatened to rip them away himself out of sheer annoyance, but now that he was free of his bondage, he didn't move at all.

"You're all set, then," the nurse said cheerfully, gathering Albus's chart. "You've got your homework?"

Ginny waved the thick packet of information they'd equipped her with, outlining all the dos and don'ts for chemo patients, what things were normal and what should incite panic, etc. Everything they'd told her but anticipated and excused her lack of attention given the chemicals they had been pouring into her child's veins at the time.

"Alright, then we'll see you next Friday for round two of this party," the nurse said, smiling at Al. He just blinked slowly at her. She patted his shoulder sympathetically, surprised Ginny with a one-armed hug, and left them for Al to get changed.

Harry had gone to pull the car around, so Ginny was left on her own to negotiate the departure procedure.

"Come on, then. Let's get you out of that gown and into some real clothes," she said, coming around the bed and automatically parroting the nurse's chipper voice.

Albus didn't move. Ginny bent and gathered the fresh change of clothes she'd grabbed out of his closet the day before. She sat on the edge of the bed and tugged gently at the papery garment Albus had so loathed the first few days. By yesterday, he'd been too nauseous to care what they put him in.

"Come on, darling," she coaxed, beginning to unfold the Chudley Cannons sweatshirt Ron had given him for his birthday in August.

Slowly, as if testing to see if his bones and muscles would hold, Albus sat up and slid his arms out of the gown, diving into the sweatshirt. It seems to swallow him. Ginny let him do the rest, politely looking up at the ceiling, but keeping her hands on his shoulders to steady him. She watched him look around the bleached hospital room, then toward the door he was now allowed to walk through on the condition that he would be back in a week for more. She heard him heave a sigh and then he started for the corridor.

XxXxX

The stands were nearly overflowing. The Slytherin team had landed and was waiting expectantly for them across the field. Anna Colter, the usual commentator, was listing off player stats for the crowd as they waited more and more impatiently for a team Dominique knew was not on its way. She looked over her shoulder at Bell and Fry in the empty locker room, the missing players suddenly seeming ghostly in their absence.

It was her first game as captain. It was her chance to prove herself. But a forfeit wouldn't crush her today. She wouldn't even feel it under the ten tons of pressure that already seemed to be squeezing Dominique's lungs.

She loved flying more than anything else, but she knew if she kicked off today, she would do something she never did and despised on principal; she would burst into tears. Cataclysmic events were about the only things that could cancel a Quidditch match, and to ask to reschedule now, the world would need to be ending. She took a breath and squared her shoulders, preparing to plead her case.

XxXxX

"I don't understand," Scorpius mumbled, rubbing his forehead as he stared down at the book Rose had found in the library. She held it on her knees, clutching the covers as if it were a life raft keeping her afloat, a blanket of comfort.

Apparently she hadn't slept at all last night. She'd borrowed Al's invisibility cloak, which was still in his trunk in his dormitory, and done the one thing Rose Weasley believed could solve any problem: scoured the library. She'd found one book in the Muggle Studies section titled _A Comparison of Medicine and Healing_. There was one slim chapter discussing cancer, which before half an hour ago, Scorpius had barely even heard of.

Rose pulled the book closer to her, chewing her lip. "I don't really either. There isn't much about leukemia…."

But the truth was, Scorpius didn't _want _to understand. This wasn't supposed to happen. People didn't just get sick like this. Not kids anyway. There were fifty-seven trained Healers at St. Mungo's. No one could tell him that not _one _of them knew how to fix this.

His insides felt hollow. There was something – a truth at the edge of his brain – that he was refusing to acknowledge. He and Rose stared down at the book together, gazing blankly at the black-and-white pages. The answers were not there.

Abruptly, Scorpius jumped to his feet.

Rose blinked up at him, confused and for some reason looking a little hurt. "Where are you going?"

"There's a letter I've got to send. Promised my dad," Scorpius mumbled.

Actually, he hadn't promised his father anything. In fact, it had been a long time since they'd had anything more than superficial conversation. Scorpius tried not to assign blame for that, to decide which one had pulled away first. But this transcended old family rivalries and petty embarrassments. He needed his father's advice and reassurance, and this time, he was ready to listen.

XxXxX

"What do you think? How does that look?"

Teddy shook his long mane of purple hair out, flipping it over his shoulder for Lily's amusement.

"Nearly perfect," she declared, climbing up on the sofa behind him and gathering the locks into a ponytail. She clipped a flower onto the end and loosed a few strands to fall about his face in what he imagined she thought looked like the blokes on the covers of her mother's sappy romance novels. Then she leaned over his shoulder for her silver mirror, nearly falling face-first into the carpet.

Teddy grinned when she held it up, smirking.

"Lovely," he laughed, reaching back to pull her upside-down over his shoulder. She tumbled into his lap, luminous flowered skirt pooling around her and clashing loudly with her orange-stripped sweater.

He had pulled out all the stops that morning. They'd made chocolate cake for breakfast and finger painted on the walls. He'd even flipped her up on his shoulders so she could leave blue footprints along the kitchen ceiling. He'd read from her illustrated collection of Muggle fairytales, changing his features to resemble those of the characters and even doing the voices. And now he was letting her play make-over. He was spoiling her – which, admittedly, he'd always been inclined to do – because it kept them both from thinking about what they were waiting for.

But just as Lily settled on his knees, armed with eye-shadow and glitter, they heard the swish of a car in the drive. They both froze, heads swiveling toward the kitchen.

"Lily –"

But she was up in a bound, makeup forgotten on the living room rug. Teddy scrambled up to follow her, wiping the lip gloss off his mouth and pulling the flower pin out of his hair as he changed it back to short and turquoise. Lily had jumped up on the counter and was peering cautiously through the curtained window, a rabbit spying from its burrow. Teddy went to look over her shoulder.

The Potters' clunky blue automobile (the opposite of what Harry's uncle had driven in his youth) had stopped alongside the freestanding garage. The front doors opened, and Harry and Ginny got out. They looked tired and worn, and Teddy fancied he could see new wrinkles on their faces. Harry retrieved a couple of bags from the trunk as Ginny opened the back door and leaned down.

Teddy hadn't seen Albus since his twelfth birthday back in August, just before school started. He and James and Albus had spent the afternoon playing a rough game of footie. They'd forgone the rules and tackled each other into the soft grass with sheer force, kicking the ball hard enough to leave welts against each other's shins and chasing breathlessly from one end of the yard to the other. It had left them sore and gasping and laughing in a heap by the end of it with no idea who won or even who was on whose team.

That was barely two and a half months ago, but the kid carefully sliding out of the backseat now could not have been more different from the summer-browned, lightning-fast whirl of energy that had managed to knock Teddy to the ground with wild shouts of victory. This kid was white and unsteady on his feet, leaning heavily on his mother as they made their way to the house. This kid seemed to swim in clothes that hung off him. His usually-wild hair was matted to his forehead, and he looked exhausted. This kid had a half-healed bruise painted on his face.

Harry reached the backdoor first, pulled it open, and dropped the bags inside. Without a word, Lily jumped off the counter and flew into her father's arms. He hugged her fiercely and kissed the crown of her head, but gently disentangled himself to help Ginny with Al.

Teddy didn't know what to do with himself. He felt like a gawking audience watching them settle Al into a chair at the table, handling him carefully. Albus immediately buried his face in his folded arms, and only then did Ginny turn to Lily.

"Hey, baby girl," she said, offering her daughter a smile that seemed strung too tightly as she scooped Lily into a tight embrace. Lily's eyes did not leave her brother.

Harry noticed Teddy. "Hey, mate," he said, stepping forward to clap Teddy's shoulder. "Thanks for picking her up…."

Teddy nodded. He didn't want to stare, but he felt like if he looked away from Albus, he might vanish. He realized that since Harry and Ginny had first explained what was happening to him on Sunday night, Albus had haunted his thoughts. To have him solidly in the same room had become a strange experience. A thick silence settled among them. Albus sat up and leaned back in his chair, shifting his back against the bars and staring down at his fingers. A tinge of pink had crept into his cheeks and Teddy was sure he could feel them all looking.

Harry cleared his throat, taking the situation in hand. "Well, I dunno about you, but I'm starved," he said, turning to rummage in a cupboard. "What d'you suppose we'll have for lunch? Al? Anything you're hungry for?"

Albus shook his head quickly, looking queasy.

"Alright, Lil, guess it's up to you."

But Lily had climbed into her mother's lap and was too busy gazing at Albus to answer. Harry pulled out the first thing his hand touched and began clanging dishes, pulling down bowls and a kettle, filling the room with noise. Teddy drifted out of his way and came to join the rest at the table, deciding to take Harry's lead.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, pulling up a chair beside Al and resting a hand on his shoulder. He didn't know what to say next. He couldn't ask if Albus was alright. He couldn't ask what he'd been up to, how his friends were, what James's last detention had been for. He didn't know how to talk to him.

"Hey, Teddy," Albus murmured, glancing at him out of the corners of his eyes. He fidgeted a little bit more, then looked up at his mother. "Think I'll go up to bed. Kinda tired."

"Alright," Ginny said, getting up at once and sliding Lily to the floor.

"I can do it," Al told her when she tried to help him, sounding just a little like the belligerent preteen he should have been as he pushed her hands away. Ginny watched him slowly mount the stairs with an anxious expression.

The moment they heard his bedroom door close, Teddy breathed a sigh of relief. Harry dropped the pretenses of cooking, sagging against the counter. Lily had retreated under the table and peered out at them like a cat that had been made skittish. Teddy looked from Harry to Ginny to the stairs.

"How –" he faltered. "How is he?"

Instead of answering, Harry knelt down and pulled Lily gently out from her hiding place.

"Hey, bud," he murmured. "Why don't you go upstairs and paint us a picture, hm?"

"I don't want to," Lily told him. Her brown eyes were wide, earnest pools.

"What about your stretches? Don't you need to practice for dance class?"

Lily threw herself into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck in a Devil's Snare grip. Harry closed his eyes, but pulled free and nudged Lily toward the stairs.

"Go on to your room, love. I'll come get you for lunch. It'll be something you like."

Lily ducked her head and padded silently after Albus, shutting her door with hardly a noise.

Teddy felt his stomach twist as Harry dropped into a chair beside Ginny, dropped like he physically could not keep himself up any longer.

"It's not as bad as it could be," he began, looking at somberly at Teddy. "But it's not as good either."

XxXxX

Albus rolled onto his bed and stared at yet another ceiling. He was sick of lying in bed, but he felt too rotten to do much else. In a small show of rebellion, he didn't crawl under the covers. He'd just rest for a minute or two, let his stomach settle from the long car ride, and then get up and… do what? Go back downstairs and make everybody move as if the room were made of china?

He rolled over and pounded a frustrated fist into the mattress. He understood why his parents treated him like glass, why Teddy and Lily couldn't find words, couldn't stop ogling him like some foreign creature had come back in his place. But he hated it. He hated feeling fragile, hated every gesture being too gentle to be normal and every voice too soft around the edges. He hated knowing that they were talking about him in hushed, somber tones. He hated knowing that this had only just begun.

XxXxX

They tried to keep them tied down in the kitchen, but their whispers snuck up the stairs anyway. By the time they reached the cupboard where all the extra blankets made a nest to hide in, the words were blurred and faint, but they were still painted black. Lily wished they'd go away. She burrowed into the comforters and wished the whispers would just leave her alone. If she couldn't hear the real words, she didn't want to see their shadows circling like dark birds around her.

They would trap her in here, Lily realized with a sudden jolt. They were already gathering in the hall, flapping their wings against the door. A few had slid in through the cracks and were batting at her hair. If she stayed here, they would trap her, a dark mass keeping the door stuck fast. Suddenly the air seemed to stifling. She was afraid of them, afraid of tumbling out into their midst, but if she did not do it now, she would be lost forever here in the blankets.

So Lily took a great breath and flung the door open. She rolled onto the carpet, hiding her face from their scratching claws, but they just flapped at her with their wings, fluttering around her like a swarm of butterflies. She could feel the whispers lighting on her spine, crawling up her neck, and she scrambled away, squeezing through the first exit she could find.

Albus jerked upright when she snapped his door shut, like he was a marionette whose strings had been tied to the knob. Lily froze, caught in the beam of his gaze. She was not allowed to be in here. She was sure of it, even though no one had said so. She could feel the way the Silence had wrapped around this room. That must be why it couldn't keep the whispers away any longer, she realized. But she'd slipped through its defenses.

"What are you doing?" Albus asked, raising his eyebrows. He looked like Albus, but he was different. Everyone was different.

Lily pulled her knees into her skirt and rolled along the floor slowly, jerkily, rocking back and forth to gain enough momentum for each new turn. She knew the bedpost was coming, but didn't stop until she'd smacked into it and bounced back. She lay like turtle on its shell, gazing up at Al. Her brother stared down at her, completely bemused.

"You are so _weird_," he told her irritably, shaking his head.

In a flurry of skirts, Lily scrambled up onto his bed, looking quickly to the door to be sure the whispers hadn't found their way under it. She perched on the bedpost, deciding to keep watch, just in case they tried to get in. She didn't know if Al could fight them off himself.

He looked sick, now. That wasn't how it was supposed to work. People went to the hospital looking terrible and came back looking better. It was backwards with Al. She wondered why her parents had let him go in the first place.

"Lily," Albus began, sliding down the bed to look at her. "What do you want?"

Lily snuck a glance out of the corner of her eyes, but said nothing. She _wanted _lots of things. So many that they got caught in her throat, pebbles that cut into her esophagus and scraped it raw, made it hard to drag breath in. Albus poked her in the side.

"Come on, out with it," he said impatiently.

Lily batted away his hand and squinted. A black wing had flicked like the tongue of a snake under the door. Then another along the top. They were coming through. They must be after her. She'd led them here. And suppose Albus couldn't fight them away? Suppose they landed on his bruise and in the dark bags under his eyes and covered him all the way? She was only a small girl, after all, a squirt, like Teddy called her. What if –

But suddenly she was being pulled backwards off her precarious perch, landing against a soft sweatshirt, and Albus's fingers scrabbled over her belly, light, gentle wings. She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, clearing its way through her windpipe and bursting out of her mouth like bubbles. She gasped, marveling at how easy it was to breathe, suddenly.

"You're such a weirdo," Albus told her again, but he grinned down at her.

And suddenly Lily realized what had been off. The world wasn't altogether changed, it had just been tilted. And if she tilted with it, it was just like she remembered. She turned her head into Al's chest and felt a hard bump that wasn't a bone press against her cheek. But if she pretended she didn't, like she sometimes pretended the neighbor was an alien or that the apple tree in the back garden went up to the moon, if she pretended nothing was wrong, than nothing would be wrong anymore.

XxXxX

Nausea rolled over him like a sea. Albus lay perfectly still in his dark bedroom, eyes closed, willing the world not to spin. In a half-dazed stupor, the beach at Shell Cottage came back to him. When he was nine, Louis and Dominique had taught him how to body surf. The cold, salty water washed over him, pushing him up and plunging him down between swelling walls of turquoise water. He slipped on the slick rocks littering the sea floor and suddenly he wasn't high enough. The wave crashed over him, rolling back in confused tumble of limbs and bubbles, and before he could do much more than find the surface and spit out water, another wave slammed him back. Again and again, the sheer strength of a great, powerful force he'd been foolish enough to think he understood and could navigate twisted him in its grasp.

Albus rolled out of bed and stumbled to the door. There was no time to call for his mother, to even turn on a light. He slid on his knees across the bathroom tiles and began to heave and choke, bile burning his throat and still feeling as if the sea were tumbling him.

XxXxX

"Morning," Ginny said, jumping up the moment she spotted Al in the doorway.

He gave her a wary look as he took the chair beside Lily, who was finger-painting her toast with raspberry jam. To cover her movement, Ginny swept to the stove and heaped a bowl with oatmeal. As she set it down in front of him, she ran her hand through his hair. In a few weeks, it would be gone.

"How did you sleep?" she asked, trying not to sound anxious.

He shrugged, dragging the spoon unenthusiastically through his breakfast.

"Do you feel alright? The nurses told me it's very common to have nausea –"

"I'm fine,"Albus interrupted and bent low over his bowl as he began to eat. "Where's Dad?"

"He went to talk to Ron and Hermione," Ginny explained, reluctantly returning to her own chair.

Silence fell. The l: ast week had been a study of silences for Ginny. There were heavy, black silences in which bad news coiled like a serpent. There were fragile silences holding back all the torrents of things that shouldn't be said. The silence of a sleeping child was like velvet, soft, thick, hushed, and the silence of a waking child was cotton in the wind, too cold and insubstantial. There were silences for moments words could not fill: _Is he…? How will we…? What did I…?_ And then there are the places silence arches because ordinary words aren't where they should be.

For the first time, Ginny noticed the absence of Lily's continual chatter.

XxXxX

The Burrow had rarely been so full, yet so quiet. As they each appeared in the back garden and began making their way to the door, everyone seemed to feel the somberness gathered like snow on the roof and porch railings, drifting against the doors and windows. Even the frosted grass forewent crunching beneath their shoes.

Sunday lunch, a weekly habit going back nearly twenty years to the time they had needed to see each other's faces every seven days at least to assure themselves everything was truly alright, had become significantly less chaotic as each new school year claimed more grandchildren. But this kind of order was unheard of. Plates and glasses sat empty, food untouched. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat at either end of the table, and between them, side by side, heads bent like children expecting reprimands, were Bill and Fleur, Percy and Audrey, George and Angelina, and Ron.

Murmurs skirted the table, ripples on water. Ron could feel every eye darting to him and kept his gaze on his spoon, as if fascinated by the shrunk, upside-down reflection of the room. He could hear Hermione settling Hugo upstairs, both knowing he'd sneak down to eavesdrop the moment she left. He wished she'd hurry and also wished she'd stay up there all afternoon, forestalling the moment another week or two or three.

But he'd promised Harry this morning that they would handle this, promised because in all the time he'd known him – in all the variations of Hell they'd gone through – he had never seen a look like that on his best friend's face. For once, he could do the difficult task. Harry was _asking _it of him. So he would.

Hermione slid into the chair beside him, and it was like a circuit had been completed, a charge of energy pulsing through them. Every head – his parents' along with all the rest – turned toward them.

Ron took a moment to gather the words, wondering what they already knew. His mother looked like a sleep walker sitting at her own table. His father was grim-faced. Fleur was blinking furiously. Yes, she had definitely read the magazine, knew something of what was coming. Bill frowned, pulling the scars across his face into deep ruts. The other four, though, shared the same nervous awareness, perched on the edge of a chasm they knew was there but couldn't see.

Percy, who had never been good with silence, broke it first. "Where're Ginny and Harry? And Lily?"

A few eyes flicked to the empty chairs standing against the wall. They'd all been acutely aware of them, but no one had asked. Ron took a breath, clutching at the starting point Percy had offered him.

"They… they're at home," he began unclimatically. "I expect they'll be missing the next few Sundays, too. Something's… happened."

Good lord, he was dreadful at this. All the sentences he'd carefully pieced together as he'd waited had disintegrated in the hot rush of his breath. His chest felt too tight to speak, and he looked at Hermione for help, but she was carefully stacking her silverware. He cleared his throat and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table.

"You know Harry and Ginny got called up to the school last Sunday? It was because Al… he's sick."

In a low, methodic sort of voice, Ron recounted an edited summary of what he knew had happened in the last week. He skimmed over the medical details that he himself barely grasped after being submerged in them for days, carefully not looking at any of them lest he lose his thread and not be able to find it again.

"Basically," he found himself saying at last, hoarse from talking. "There's good news and there's bad news. The cancer hasn't spread to other systems, which is good, but it's progressed fairly quickly, which is… not so good. They've classified him as a moderate-risk case. Which means…." And here, Ron paused, still reeling from this last statistic. "His chances of survival are just over fifty percent."

And after that, he couldn't have spoken another word if he'd wanted to. His voice had just stopped. Cautiously, he looked up at his family. Apparently, he wasn't the only one rendered mute.

XxXxX

James lay on his back, feeling the freezing cold of the astronomy tower stones seeping through his cloak. One hand was behind his head, and in the other rested a heavy coin. There was a metallic _ching _as he flipped it skyward, a glint of gold as it spun. He did it again and again, counting the number of times it landed showing the profile of some famous politician or the triple M insignia of the Ministry. After close to a hundred tosses, he paused, weighing the coin in his palm.

_Heads, Al lives_.

He snapped his wrist and the coin flew skyward, then plummeted, striking his hand sharply on landing. His fingers closed over it. He closed his eyes, feeling the metal burning through his skin. Then he flung the coin over the lip of the stone wall with all his might.


End file.
